The Darkness We Create
by bambers2
Summary: Dean falls victim to an evil cult hellbent on making him one of their own, leaving Sam to try and find him before it is too late. warning, there is a lot of fairly graphic violence in this story
1. Chapter 1

_so, wasn't going to post this here just yet, but anniesmom emailed me and asked if i would so here it is...thanks for reading, hope everyone enjoys the story!! bambers;)  
_

_Chapter One_

Dean Winchester sat on a barstool, slowly nursing a beer, and to anyone who cared to notice, he appeared as if he were lost in thought. Yet, although he had a lot of things on his mind, his senses were still keenly aware of everything going on around him. When he had entered the establishment, he'd taken a long look around, noting the exits as well as all the patrons of the bar before strolling over to the counter to get a drink. The place hadn't been overly crowded when he'd stopped for a beer earlier, but as the night progressed more and more people filled the small dive.

With a quick glance over his shoulder at the two pool tables set up in the far corner of the room, he decided not to try his luck at hustling without Sam around for back up. There was just something about the ten or eleven men milling around the pool tables that made Dean's skin crawl. All dressed in plain black t-shirts as well as black jeans, they looked as if they could've been carbon-copies of each other. Their hair had all been shaved off, and as Dean narrowed his eyes to get a better look at them, he'd noticed they all had a strange looking tattoo on their muscular upper arms. And if he didn't know any better, he would've sworn the marks had been branded there instead of tattooed.

He wondered briefly if they might belong to some motorcycle gang as he returned his attention to his beer. But as several of them had been at the bar before Dean had come in, and he'd seen no motorcycles in the parking lot, he highly doubted it. Besides, most motorcycle gangs were usually rowdy, looking to stir up trouble while these men were abnormally quiet, using subtle gestures to indicate things instead of speaking.

Dean also noticed how none of them drank or ate anything while they were there. The waitress had gone over to them numerous times throughout the night, but they would just give her a single shake of their heads when she'd asked if they's wanted anything. Finally after about the fifth time, she'd apparently given up, and hadn't gone back there since.

Yet, as sinister as they might have appeared, they kept to themselves, and to Dean, it almost seemed as if they really didn't notice that anyone else was there. And as long as they weren't looking for trouble, Dean was more than willing to oblige them as he had other more pressing matters on his mind, namely Sam.

Ever since their recent hunt for Bloody Mary, Sam had questioned several times about the secret Dean had been keeping from him. Dean hated keeping secrets from his little brother, but there were just some things he would rather not have to share with his little brother. He guessed it was too much to hope for that Sam wouldn't have noticed that his eyes had bled as well when Mary had come after them, but since he had, Sam wouldn't let the matter go.

Sam's tenacious hounding for an answer is what led Dean to the bar for a drink, and for a few moments without a constant barrage of questions being flung at him. He loved his brother, but sometimes Sam's need to know everything really wore on his nerves. But as one quick drink turned into many, and a short time turned into several hours away from his brother, Dean knew he had to head back to the motel before Sam started to worry about him.

So swallowing down the last of his beer, Dean set the glass on the counter, eased off of the barstool, and made for the entrance. At the doorway, he hesitated, feeling as if someone was watching. Instinctively he glanced in the direction of the pool tables, but as all the other times before, the men appeared as if they hadn't even noticed his presence. With one last look around, Dean slipped out the door and headed for his car.

He wasn't even a quarter of the way there when he spotted four men getting out of a dark colored van, parked alongside his own vehicle. Like the others inside the bar, these men also were all dressed in black and had their heads shaved. Hearing the door swing open behind him, Dean stopped short, and swung to look at all the darkly garbed men from the bar as they filed out of the doorway and strode toward him. Dean thought to run, but before he even got the chance, two of the men from the van roughly grabbed hold of his arms, trapping him there.

Dean fought desperately against them, twisting and jerking as more men gripped hold of him, hauled him off the ground and threw him in the back of the van, and followed him inside. For a split second he broke free, and slammed his fist into one of the shorter men's face. Someone quickly gripped hold of Dean's wrist and twisted it painfully behind his back.

Cold metal handcuffs encircled his right wrist, and he heard it click into place as yet another man grabbed his left arm and yanked it backward. With the ominous clicking in place of the second cuff, they roughly pushed Dean to the floor, and duct taped his ankles together.

"Why the hell you doing this to me?" he snarled as he bucked wildly, trying to break free of his restraints.

"The Father has commanded it," one of the men said as if Dean should understand that and obey without question. "He has decided in his wisdom that you should take her place."

"Who's place? What the hell are you talkin' about?" Dean thrashed around even more violently, not liking at all how dire the man's tone sounded.

"Yours is not to question, but to obey," the man stated simply.

"Like hell I will," Dean growled, kicking out at the men closest to his feet. His feet slammed into one of the taller of the muscle-bound men, catching him in the stomach and he flew backward into the back doors of the van.

Several of the men leapt on top of Dean, one kneeing him hard in the stomach to put a stop to his squirming around.

"You will obey or you will suffer until you do." The man took out a syringe filled with clear liquid, leaned over Dean and injected it into his arm. "The Father says we all fight our chosen destiny at first, and I suppose you're no different, but I find this makes things a lot easier for all concerned."

Within a matter of moments, Dean's vision blurred, faint shadowy images dancing before his eyes as he felt his fingers and toes go numb. His eyes fluttered open and closed as he weakly fought against the drug and the men still holding him prisoner. He tried to speak, but his tongue felt thick and useless, and whatever he had intended to say came out as garbled nonsense.

"That's it, just let the drug take effect," the man said in a soft coaxing tone of voice. "Don't fight against it, it's useless to even try."

"Saa . . . mmm . . . ." Dean's eye drifted closed, the fight leaving him as he slipped into darkness.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dean slowly came to, but struggled to keep his eyes open, and was thankful that there were no lights on as he knew at the moment that would have made matters worse. His first real conscious thought as he shivered violently was that he was naked, yet couldn't figure out why he would be. His head was swimming so violently he could barely keep hold of that thought as he tried to remember what had happened. The last thing he clearly recalled was being at a bar, but couldn't remember a thing after he'd left there.

Carefully as not to make his head pound any more furiously than it already was, he tried to shift into a more comfortable position, but found that he could scarcely move more than a few inches. With legs curled up beneath him, his arms were held out to the sides by two sturdy metal cuffs that were bolted into the cold cement floor.

Panic gripped hold of Dean's heart, a shiver of fear racing down the length of his spine as he fought uselessly against restraints. _Come on, damn it. _He yanked with all his strength, curving his fingers inwards in hopes that his hands would slip free of the handcuffs, but they were tightly secured.

"Guhh . . . come on, damn it!" He jerked even harder on the metal restraints, hearing a door open somewhere off to the right. Someone flipped a switch and a dim amber light filled the small room, giving Dean his first really good look around.

Whoever held him prisoner had him locked inside a cage with thick metal bars, although it really hadn't been necessary as the position he was trapped in precluded any movement. The walls had all been painted black. On the wall facing Dean, a large strange symbol of an ornate cross with two crossing sickles had been painted in red.

He looked around trying to find any windows but either they had been painted black to match the room or there weren't any, and at this moment he seriously doubted there were any. Shifting his head to the right, he searched for the door the person had come through, but again couldn't see it.

A tall man with long raven black hair, stepped from the shadows followed by several shorter, bald men who were dressed entirely in black. The raven haired man, dressed in crimson robes, definitely looked to be their leader, and Dean couldn't help but wonder what the hell was going on, who these people were or why they were holding him prisoner for that matter.

The other men hung back as their leader strode toward Dean with an air of confidence and grace, stopping in front of the cell door. Withdrawing a key from his robe, he opened the door, entered the cell, and knelt beside Dean. He tilted his head from side to side as if appraising Dean, and then gripped hold of Dean's hair and yanked his head backwards so Dean was forced to look him in the eyes.

"I am the Father, and that is what you will call me," he said in a tone that was meant to brook no argument. "Do you understand?"

"So callin' you a sonuvabitch, is out of the question then?" Dean sneered at him, and was rewarded for his efforts by the man's fist slamming into his face.

"Disobedience is not tolerated here. You will soon learn that." The Father's stern gaze found Dean's once more as he jerked back harder on Dean's hair. "From this day forward your name is to be Child. All other names you may have once had are to be forgotten."

"Name's Dean," Dean's growled defiantly. "And I already have a father who could kick the living shit outta you. An' when he finds me, he's gonna kill you, mark my words."

"Think so, huh?" The Father laughed, seemingly not the least bit concerned over what Dean had just said. "Once a child is mine, they are mine for life. No one finds them. Ever."

As Dean looked from the Father to the men standing just beyond the cell door, a tremor of fear coursed through his body, sweat prickling at the nape of his neck and beading on his forehead. He had no idea where is Dad actually was at the moment, and without his help Dean feared his little brother would get himself killed if Sam tried to find him.

"No witty comeback, Child?" The Father quirked his brow, and smiled at Dean. When Dean failed to replied, he continued, "Good. Now, first things first," he motioned to one of the men, and a tall man with light green eyes stepped forward, carrying scissors and a shaver in his hands. "The cleansing process. We can only truly be as one if we look as one."

Dean's gaze fell to all the men with shaven heads, then to the scissors in the man's hands, and horrible understanding dawned upon him. "No freakin' way," he squirmed and yanked against the restraints, to no avail, "you're not cuttin' off my hair."

"You can fight if you wish, but I can guarantee you the results will be the same."

"Not gonna let you — "

"You really don't have a choice in the matter," the Father said, cutting Dean off, and with a single gesture, two more men stepped inside the cell, and moved to stand on either side of Dean. Gripping a hold of him, they held on firmly as the man with the scissors, cut away all his scruffy hair, and then proceeded to shave him bald. Once finish, the two men let go of him, and the three men backed out of the cell, leaving Dean alone inside again with the Father.

"You will learn, as they have all learned, that my will is the only thing that matters here." He stood, and headed out of the cell. "No food or water for two days." he said to his men as he strode away without waiting for a response.


	2. Chapter 2

_so, thrilled that everyone seemed to like the first chappy!! tanks so much for reading and reviewing!! hope everyone enjoys what's to come!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Two_

The moment all the Father's men had left the room, Dean heard the sound of someone speaking over a louder speaker. He glanced around and noticed microphones hanging from the ceiling in all four corners of the room.

_The Father's word is law. You will obey the Father. You are nothing without the Father to guide you. You live to serve only the Father._ Over and over again, the recorded message played without fail, echoing loudly in the small expanse.

"I'm so gonna kick the Father's ass. When I get out of here, the Father is a dead man," Dean yelled repeatedly, trying to drowned out the sound of the recording, but someone must have heard him, and cranked the sound up even louder.

Next to Dean's right hand, he spied a thick clump of his hair. He inched his fingers along the ground until he was able to snag hold of it. A hard lump formed in his throat as he kneaded the tuft of golden brown hair through his fingertips, and wondered what his father would think if he saw Dean at this very moment. He could clearly imagine the look of disappointment and embarrassment in his father's eyes when he finally found Dean shaved bald, naked and chained to the ground as if he were some sort of animal instead of a human being.

His Dad would never have found himself in this kind of situation, he was much too intelligent to fall prey to men like the Father. No, his father would have sense the danger the men in the bar represented. John wouldn't have been lulled into a false sense of security by the fact that the men had kept to themselves. If anything that would have set off clear warning bells in his father's mind that something was definitely wrong. Dean, on the other hand, had been more than willing to set aside his doubts and concerns about the men, in hopes that just for once he could drink his beer in peace and then head back to the motel Sam and him were staying at.

_I was so freakin' stupid. Should've known something wasn't right about those bald headed freaks._ His hand clenched tightly around the damn clump of hair. _Why the hell did they have to cut off my freakin' hair?_ Dean knew it was only hair, knew that it grow back, and also knew he'd been hurt a lot worse in his life, so couldn't understand why the hell it seemed to hurt worse than all the old injuries combine.

It was as if a small part of what made him who he was had been stolen away from him. He guessed that was what the Father's intentions had been when he'd ordered it done, and it had worked like a charm. The crazed lunatic was trying to take away Dean's identity, trying to make him into one of his freaks, but Dean would be damned if he'd let that happen.

Dean shifted his weight to one side, and slowly unfolded his cramped legs, regretting it instantly as the blood rushed back to his lower extremities. As the painful stinging ebbed, Dean began to shiver, teeth chattering loudly as he tried his best to huddle up for warmth. But with his hands shackled to the ground and without any clothes on, the chill from the cold cement floor seemed to just seep through his skin. No matter how closely Dean drew his legs up to his chest, he couldn't get warm.

As the hours dragged on with nothing but the steady sound of the voice over the loud speaker droning in his ears, real fear started to grip hold of Dean. Sam had to be searching for him by now, but as Dean had no real idea how long he'd been unconscious, he couldn't even begin to guess how far away from the bar they'd traveled. And if Dean didn't know where he was, how was his little brother ever going to find him?

"No," he assured himself, "Sammy will find me. We couldn't have traveled that far." But even as the words tumbled from his mouth, nagging doubt crept into his heart.

He glanced up at the symbol on the wall, and realized that it looked strangely familiar, but he couldn't recall where he'd seen it before. However, he now realized it was the same mark that was tattooed to all the men he'd seen at the bar earlier, but he was certain that wasn't why it seemed so familiar to him. It had to mean something important, and was possibly the reason the Father and his cult had kidnaped Dean.

So lost in thought, Dean failed to hear the loud speaker turn off. And it wasn't until he'd heard the sound of footsteps coming toward him that Dean realized he was no longer alone in the room. The Father strode to the cell, unlocked the door and entered, several of his followers waiting just outside like the last time.

"On you knees, Child," the Father commanded, and when Dean failed to do as ordered, he added, "Said, on your knees. I won't ask again."

Dean glared at him, eyes narrowing with venomous hatred, and snarled, "Go to freakin' hell, you sick sonuvabitch."

With a curt nod the Father motioned for one of his men to come forward. "You see, I did ask nicely," he said as the man handed him a thick wooded cane, "but some children need to learn the hard way about disobedience."

Before Dean even had a chance to prepare himself for the blow, the cane cracked down hard against his bare back. A pain-filled scream involuntarily ripped from Dean's lips as the cane came down a second time in nearly the same spot, knocking the wind out of him. Seeing the Father raise the weapon to strike again, Dean clenched his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut tight, mentally trying to prepare himself for the next strike. With vicious force, the Father slammed the cane down hard against Dean's back again. Tears sprung to Dean's eyes as he arched his back to the side, another cry of pain escaping him.

"Now are you ready to get on your knees, Child?" the Father asked as he knelt beside Dean. "Cause we can go at this for as long as it takes for you to learn your lesson."

Every ingrain instinct screamed out for Dean to refuse to do as the Father asked. But as he eyed the thick brown cane resting loosely in the older man's hand, he knew it would just bring about more excruciating pain, and at the moment he just didn't have the strength to endure anymore.

Slowly he shifted his legs, folded his knees, and lifted himself onto them, wincing and moaning softly with extreme effort it took.

"Good." the Father smiled, although the warmth of it didn't reach his pale blue eyes. "You must learn to obey me in all things, Child. Do you understand?"

Dean scowled, hating the smirking man who knelt before him more than he'd ever hated anyone in his entire life, and refused to answer.

"I asked if you understood?" The Father glanced down at the cane in his hand, lightly traced his fingers over the blood left behind by Dean, and then looked to Dean again. "You will answer me unless you are prepared to learn another brutally valuable lesson."

Eyeing the cane for several long seconds, Dean lowered his head and looked away. "Yes," he muttered in a low almost inaudible tone.

"Say I understand, Father, and say it loud enough so everyone can hear you."

Dean swallowed hard, looked back at the Father, and snarled, "Said I understand, you freakin' sonuvabitch."

The Father quirked a brow, a sardonic grin settling on his features as he chuckled. He leaned in closer, licked his pale lips, and whispered in Dean's ear. "You have a lot of spirit, Child. Think I'm really going to enjoy breaking you."

"The name's Dean. An' when I escape I'm gonna kill you."

"Huh, Really, we'll see about that once you've been here for a week or two."

The father stood, turned his back on Dean and strode through the door of the cell. Handing the cane to a big burly man, he ordered, "Five more times, and don't go easy on him. If a child refuses to obey, he must be severely punished or he will become like a poison to the whole family." He swung back to stare at Dean. "No sleep and no food until you learn your place here." Without another word, he walked away with all but three of his minions silently following after him.

The big man, who Dean had decided to call Curly, entered the cell to do as the Father had commanded.

"Look, Curly, why don't you, Moe and Larry — " the words abruptly left him in a rush of air as Curly slammed the cane down hard on his back. Again and again he struck Dean, mind numbing agony filling Dean's entire body until at last he could endure no more and slipped into welcoming darkness.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sam glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table, read 2:18 a.m. and then looked to the door again, expecting to see Dean stumbling through it any moment. When Dean had left the motel, he'd said he was going out for a drink and probably wouldn't be gone for more than a couple of hours. That was well over seven hours ago, and Sam hadn't heard a word from him since.

Every time he'd tried calling his brother's cell phone it went straight to his voice mail. He'd left several messages, and as of yet Dean still hadn't called back which was very unlike his older brother. Even if he had hooked up with some woman, which was very possible, Dean would've still called to say what time he'd be back.

Dean would never purposely let Sam worry without reason, and so Sam quickly determined there had to be something wrong. Grabbing his jacket and gun, Sam stalked out of the motel room to search for his brother. Quickly breaking into a dark blue sedan, he hot-wired it, and pulled out onto the road.

He drove around, checking the parking lots of all the local bars, knowing he had a very short amount of time left before they closed for the night. If something had happened to Dean, he really didn't want to have to wait until they opened again the next day to begin his search.

At the second to last bar on the main street in town, he spotted the Impala, and pulled into the parking area. Several people walked out of the small dive, and headed toward their cars, but he still didn't see Dean. Sam slid out of the car, and strode toward the entrance, praying his brother would still be inside, but the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach had him thinking that it was highly doubtful.

He stalked through the nearly deserted bar, looking everywhere for Dean, but couldn't find him. Quickly checking in the bathroom, he then headed over to the counter. A pretty brunette stood behind the bar, washing off the counter and putting glasses away. She'd been so busy with the task at hand, Sam had to clear his throat to gain her attention.

"Excuse me," he cleared his throat again, when she failed to raise her head after the first time. "Lookin' for my brother," he hitched a thumb over his shoulder, "his car's still outside, but I can't seem to find him."

"What's he look like, darlin'," she asked with a flirtatious smile, leaning over the wooden countertop. "Lot of people in here tonight."

"About six foot, scruffy sandy-brown hair, green eyes . . . probably tried to hit on you."

The bartender thought about it for a few moments, and then her smile widened. "Was he wearin' a leather jacket?"

"Yeah, that would be him."

"Yeah, he was here. Hard to forget someone as good-looking as him. Gave him my phone number."

"Course you did." Sam rolled his eyes. "Did you see him leave with anyone?"

The young woman thought about it for another moment, and then slowly shook her head. "Nope. Saw him leaving just as I was coming out of the backroom, and he was alone."

"What time was that?"

"Think it was around 10:30."

Sam's stomach clenched even tighter hearing that. His brother had been missing for over four hours and could be practically anywhere by now. "Did you happen to see anyone follow him out of here?"

She thought about it again, frowned and then gave a quick nod. "There were these guys playing pool . . . real strange, they kinda gave me the creeps, ya know?"

"Why's that?" Sam asked, wondering if his brother had tried to hustle them, and they'd went after Dean because they'd lost all their money to him.

"Well," she paused for a moment, and bit pensively at her lower lip as if trying to recall them clearly. "They all had their hair shaved off, and had some sort of weird tattoo on their upper arms. Sharon, another girl who works here, went over to them several times throughout the night, but they never ate or drank anything."

"Did my brother happen to play pool with them?"

Again, she shook her head. "No, he stayed at the bar the whole time he was here."

"An' they followed him out of here when he left?" he asked, now thoroughly confused as to why they would go after his brother if he hadn't tried to hustle them and hadn't even spoken to them. "You're sure?"

"Yeah, pretty sure. We were kinda busy at the time, but they weren't the kinda people you could miss easily."

"How many of them were there?"

"Think about ten or eleven of them. Could have been more or less, like I said, I was kinda busy at the time."

Sam's heart nearly skipped a beat then set off at an erratic pace hearing that, panic and fear for his brother's life quickly taking hold of him. Outwardly he tried to remain calm, but knew the slight tremor in his hands gave him away. "The tattoo, what did it look like?"

"Only got a real good look at it once when one of the men came to the bar to ask for change for a twenty." She narrowed her deep blue eyes as if trying to recall the details. "Some sort of strange cross with these two, I dunno what they're call. . . you know, those long curved blades like what a grim reaper might carry."

"Sickles?"

"Yeah, that's it," she smiled, but it quickly faded as she thought more about it. "But what was really odd about it was the tattoo looked more like it had been burned into the man's skin rather than an actual tattoo."

"Like branded?" Sam asked as he mentally tried to recall if he'd ever seen a mark like that in anything he'd ever researched about the supernatural, but drew a complete blank.

"Uh huh, exactly like that."

"Anything else you can remember?"

"Nope, that's pretty much it."

"Thanks," he muttered, giving her a faint smile that didn't quite reach the depths of his hazel eyes. "You've been a lot of help," he said as he turned to leave.

"Hope you find your brother," she called out to him as he strode away, and out the door.

"Yeah, so do I."


	3. Chapter 3

_So, new chappy...hope everyone is enjoying...thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! let me know what you think, i really do live for reviews!! Bambers;)_

_Chapter Three_

Sam searched outside the bar for any clues as to what had possibly happened to his brother. But after a extensive sweep of the entire parking lot, he'd turned up nothing. Dean had just disappeared without a trace, and the only lead Sam had to go on was that the men who took him were bald and had tattoos. _That's a whole helluva lot of help. Not like there isn't a freakin' ton of guys who are bald and have tattoos. _

There had to be a reason why they'd chosen Dean, it couldn't have just been random abduction. Nothing that had ever happened in the Winchesters' lives could be considered purely random, and Sam highly doubted this time would prove to be any different.

The bartender had said that the bar had been crowded so Sam could only assume that there would have been easier targets than Dean to take. Even vastly outnumbered Dean would have fought back. That one thought bothered Sam because as hard as he looked, he found no signs of a struggle.

He pivoted on his heel, and peered around at the streetlight on the corner and then at the stores across the road. Noticing the First National Trust Bank of America located directly across from Dean's car, Sam determinedly strode toward it. In front of the old stone building, Sam spied an ATM machine, and knew they all came equipped with cameras to capture images of people coming up to withdraw money in case of robberies.

If the camera was at the right height and angle, it might have caught an image of the men who took Dean or their vehicle. He knew it was a longshot at best, but if he could get a clear picture of the vehicle he might just be able to get a license plate number. The only problem was that it was Sunday and the bank would be closed until Monday morning, and Sam knew he didn't have that kind of time to waste.

Fishing his cell phone out of the pocket of his jacket, Sam jabbed the button to call his Dad. The phone rand several time before it went to voice mail. Sam yanked back the phone and stared at it in frustration and anger. _Damn it, Dad, your freakin' son is missing and like always you're basically freakin' useless._

Sam returned the phone to his ear, and said, "Dad, I really need your help. Some guys abducted Dean, and I have no idea where they've taken him to or even where to begin searching for him." Sam hesitated for a moment, knowing his father probably wouldn't even bother calling back, figuring Sam could handle the situation on his own. "Look, Dad, I really need you here . . .. Please, just call me back."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

A faint groan escaped Dean's dry chapped lips as he felt icy cold water splash down over him. He shivered violently as another bucket full was poured over his head and pooled around his bare chest. His back felt as if it were on fire, and he was almost positive that he had at least one if not more cracked ribs as it hurt like hell to even breathe. His legs had long since passed the point of being numb, and was almost afraid to move knowing the agony he would feel when he did.

Without glancing up, he knew the three men were still in the room with him, and wondered briefly how long he'd been unconscious this time. All Dean wanted to do at this moment was to go back to that blissful unawareness and not to wake up again until Sam found him.

His heavy eyelids drooped closed, and he felt himself drifting off until someone slapped him across the face. His head jerked to the side for a second before he snapped it back to glare at the big beefy man who had beat him with the cane.

"The Father said you aren't allowed to sleep," Curly gruffly warned.

"An' you always do what your daddy tells ya to do." Dean chuckled weakly then winced at the pain spreading through his back like a wildfire.

Curly squat down in front of Dean, grabbed hold of his chin, and forcefully jerked Dean's head up so he was looking Curly square in the eyes. "You will do as the Father tells you to do, you understand me?"

"Like hell I will," Dean snarled. "An' when I get the hell outta here, I'm gonna come after the whole lot of you. Gonna kill every last freakin' one of you startin' with the Father. An' then you're next."

"You really think so, Child?" Curly let go of Dean's chin and pressed his hand down hard on Dean's throbbing back. A muffled cry tore from Dean's lips as he clenched his teeth, his face contorting in pain. "I just really don't think you're going anywhere."

Dean glared at the man through a pain-filled haze, his eyelids fluttering open and closed as darkness threatened to engulf him again. "Wanna bet?"

Curly took one last look at Dean and rose to stand. "You'd lose." He turned and strolled out of the cell, and took his place beside the other two men to stand guard over Dean.

Somewhere overhead, Dean heard the loudspeaker click on, and the deep male voice of the Father saying the same things over and over again. _The Father's word is law. You will obey the Father. You are nothing without the Father to guide you. You live to serve only the Father._

Dean tried desperately to block out the sound of the Father's voice, silently mouthing the words to every Metallica song he knew, and when he'd finished with those, he started in on AC/DC. When he'd gone through every song he could think of, Dean began recounting every hunt that he'd ever been on.

As if they'd realized what he was doing, someone turned the loudspeaker up full blast, making it nearly impossible for Dean to think clearly.

_The Father's word is law. You will obey the Father. You are nothing without the Father to guide you. You live to serve only the Father._

_When Sam was fifteen we hunted down that . . . what the hell did we hunt down . . . think it was a werewolf . . . no, he was seventeen when we did that . . . or was he sixteen . . . maybe it wasn't a werewolf_. _Could've been a werewolf . . . maybe it was just a big black dog, but why would we hunt down a big dog? _

_The Father's word is law. You will obey the Father. You are nothing without the Father to guide you. You live to serve only the Father._

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating hard on all his memories, using them as a shelter against the droning noise and all the pain he was suffering from.

_Dad and I tracked down a banshee in Virginia when Sam was away at college. Dad got hurt . . . or maybe I got hurt. Maybe it wasn't Dad . . . maybe I was with Sam when we hunted the banshee . . . ._

_The Father's word is law. You will obey the Father. You are nothing without the Father to guide you. You live to serve only the Father._

_Went to Stanford to get Sam cause Dad was missing . . . hunted what? I know we hunted something . . . someone was burning. Maybe it was Mom . . . couldn't have been Mom. She died when? How old was I? _

_The Father's word is law. You will obey the Father. You are nothing without the Father to guide you. You live to serve only the Father._

_There was an airplane, it crashed. Did it crash while I was on it? No . . . Sam made me get on a plane . . . why the hell would he make me get on a plane that was crashing . . . no, he didn't . . . there was a . . . there was something. We had to kill something, but what?_

_The Father's word is law. You will obey the Father. You are nothing without the Father to guide you. You live to serve only the Father._

Dean rapidly realized it was no use to try to block out the sound of the Father's voice. Every conscious thought he had became more and more muddled until he couldn't recall the details of any hunt he'd been on. Fear welled in his heart as it slowly dawned on him that all the Father's followers had at one time been just like Dean. They'd all eventually succumbed to the Father's brainwashing tactics, and Dean was seriously beginning to doubt how long he would be able to resist if Sam didn't find him soon. He was just too tired, too hungry, and in way too much pain to put up any sort of real resistance against the madman, and the Father knew that, counted on it.

_What if Sammy doesn't come for me? What if he can't find me . . . ? I gotta get out of here._ Straining and pulling against the restraints, Dean fought until the last of his stores of strength gave out. Wearily, his mind began to drift off, but just as he felt himself falling asleep, someone dumped another ice cold bucket of water over his head, waking him instantly.

"Th-thanks," Dean uttered through chattering teeth, "w-wouldn't w-wanna miss when you, Larry and Curly do th-that s-slappy face thing."

"No sleep," the man Dean had decided to call Moe said in a stoic tone of voice, then trudged back over to sit beside the other two.

Dean trembled uncontrollably, and vaguely wondered if he was shivering because of the water or if he had a fever. Either was possible, but he hoped it was because of the water and the fact that he didn't have any clothes on rather than an actual fever. Although at this moment he would almost welcome the delirium of a fever.

The Father entered the room, and the three men quickly got to their feet, eagerly waiting to do his bidding. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed them, and with one last look in Dean's direction, they all left.

"No one's coming for you, Child," the Father said as he walked into the cell, and Dean noticed the glint of a knife in his hand. "No one even cares that you're gone."

"Not true," Dean muttered, never taking his sights off of the blade the man carried.

The Father knelt down next to Dean, and lightly traced the edge of the blade across Dean's cheek, then let it come to rest at the corner of his eye. Dean flinched as the tip of the knife dug into his skin.

"Where are they then?" he dug a little deep, and Dean felt blood trickle down his face. "If one of my children were missing, I would've found them by now . . . would have punished them severely for wandering so far from home." The Father hesitated for a moment before adding, "I would rather kill one of my children than let them go. But then you already know that, don't you, Child?"

"Don't know what you're talkin' about." The blade slid closer to Dean's eye, and he shied away, fearing that the madman would try to cut his eyeballs out of their sockets.

"Sure you do," the father chided, "and if you ever try to leave me, I will hunt you down and kill you . . . you and anyone you ever cared about." Laughing mercilessly, he gripped a hold of Dean's hand and carved a cross into it. Dean squinched his eyes shut, a low hiss escaping him as the Father then carved two sickles over the cross. "One week from now, you will be branded as one of mine, but until that time this mark will be proof to you and all the world that you belong solely to me. No better than cattle. Worthless in the eyes of everyone. Pathetic and weak. No one wants you . . . no one ever has. It's time you realized that."

As the Father stood and walked away, Dean stared at the bloodied mark on his hand, and realized that the Father was right. He'd always been pathetic and weak. His family had never needed him in the way that he needed them. They could survive if he died, would move on, but it would kill him if anything ever happened to them. Maybe they were glad that he was gone. Maybe they were better off without him. And as he watched the blood drip down his hand to land on the cold cement floor, Dean realized that he was truly alone.


	4. Chapter 4

_so another chappy...thanks for all the awesome reviews!! i live to read them!! thanks for reading!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Four_

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fidgeting with his tie as he waited for the manager of the bank. Dean had already been missing for well over twenty-four hours and Sam was still no closer to finding out who had abducted him. Not knowing what else to do, Sam decided that the ATM camera was his best hope for finding some clue as to who took his brother. And so here he sat, pretending to be an FBI agent for some snob-nosed bank manager.

His father hadn't bothered to call back even though Sam had left him at least ten urgent messages. _You'd think the freakin' man would care just a little bit that his oldest son is missing. But why should this time be any different from all the other times. All he ever thinks about . . . cares about is that damn demon. _

The door behind him swung up then closed, and Sam stood to greet the man. As he turned, surprise lit across his features as a petite, raven-haired woman with dazzling blue eye smiled at him.

"Um . . . ." Sam was momentarily left at a loss for words, "thought you were a guy."

"No, last time I checked, I was definitely a female," she chuckled.

"Yeah, I can see that with your," he gestured toward her ample breasts, then quickly lowered his hand, blushing profusely, "uhh . . . what I meant to say was that they told me I would be speaking with a Billy Carter, an' I just thought . . . well, I figured . . . but you have . . . ." Sam's voiced trailed off, knowing he was only making matters worse.

"I have breasts, is that what you mean?" She gestured for him to raise his head, "An' I also have eyes only they're up a little higher." Sam lifted his head to meet her steady gaze. "Ah, there you go. See that wasn't so tough, now was it, Agent Mulder? Think it would be really rather uncomfortable if we both just sat here staring at each others," she motioned toward Sam's pants, and smiled again, "think you get the picture."

"I'm sorry, I mean . . . I'm not . . . I don't usually . . . but — "

"Can I ask why you're here, Agent Mulder," Billy asked as she took a seat behind her desk. "I have to leave for a meeting in a half hour, so I really don't have time for this."

"Yeah, sure," he hitched a thumb over his shoulder toward the front of the bank. "A man was abducted from the bar across the street late Saturday night, and I need to review your ATM camera footage to see if we can get a license plate on the assailants."

"I didn't hear anything about it on the news?" Billy said, concern etching her delicate features.

"We're keeping it from the news for the moment incase the perpetrators are holding out for a ransom." Sam forced a fake smile, trying hard not to show his fear that his brother might already be dead. "The family just wants him back unharmed. I'm sure you can understand that."

"Definitely." Billy stood and headed for the door, motioning for Sam to follow. "If you'll just come with me, I'll have someone set up the footage from Saturday evening for you."

"Thanks."

Billy led Sam into a security room, filled with monitors to watch the people coming and going from the bank. He immediately spied the one from the ATM machine, and breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed it gave a clear view of the parking lot Dean had been abducted from.

Billy quickly explained to the security officer what Sam was looking for, and with a nod, the man grabbed the tapes from a long shelf lined with them. Within a few moment, the man brought the footage of Saturday evening up on another separate monitor.

"About what time are you lookin' for?" the security guard turned and asked Sam.

"Around ten-thirty or maybe a little earlier than that."

The guard fast forwarded the tape until the time in the lower right-hand corner of the screen read ten o'clock. "There ya go, that should give you what you need." Without another word, the security guard returned to watching his monitors.

"I have to go," Billy said as she tapped her watch, "if there's anything else you need, just ask Pete." She motioned to the man who had just helped Sam. "He can pretty much do anything with these monitors."

"Thanks," Sam muttered, already totally immersed in his search for his brother's attackers.

Right away he spotted the Impala, but at ten o'clock there wasn't any vehicle parked next to it on wither side. A few minutes later a light blue Ford Taurus pulled into the spot next to Dean, but Sam wasn't able to see the people who got out of the vehicle because someone had chosen that moment to make a withdraw from the ATM machine.

As the person moved away from the machine, Sam noticed a large old van had pulled up along the other side of Dean's car. The picture was dark, and also a frame by frame shot, but if he squinted he could definitely make out two men sitting inside the over-sized vehicle.

For a good twenty minutes they just sat inside the vehicle and waited. At around ten-thirty Sam saw the men get out of the car and head toward something off screen. A tight knot formed in Sam's throat when he saw the two men along with several others dragging Dean toward the back of the van. Within five minutes of forcing Dean into their vehicle, the van sped away out of the parking lot.

Rubbing his eyes, Sam then scrubbed his trembling hand across his face as he turned to Pete. "Think you could zero in on a license plate for me?"

"Sure thing," Pete swivelled around in his chair to look at Sam. "Which car?" he asked as he backed up the tape until Sam told him to stop.

"That van," he pointed at the screen, "I really need the license plate number for that van," Sam replied, and was certain the older man must have heard the desperation in his tone.

Pete zoomed in on the van's plates, shifting dials on his control board to bring the number into focus. "There ya go, New York plates. BYM 4674."

Sam hastily scrawled the license number down, and was on his feet in a shot, heading for the door. "Thanks, you can't even begin to realize how much this helps," he called back over his shoulder, and left before the man even had a chance to say anything else.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Once inside the Impala, Sam grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket, and placed a call. When the person on the other end of the line answered, he said, "Hi, this is Officer Richards from the Jefferson County police department, badge number 453678, I need you to run a plate for me."

"What's the number," a woman replied, sounding slightly bored.

"New York plates, license number, BYM 4674."

"Okay, hold on a second." Within a few moments the woman returned to the phone, "Those plates were reported stolen two months ago by the owner."

"Stolen?" Sam's heart sank into the pit of his stomach. "You're sure."

"I'm reading the report right now, Officer," she replied in a clearly aggravated voice. "A Mr. Sanderson reported that the plates from his Chevy Venture were stolen on August the twenty-fifth of this year while he was on vacation in Toledo."

"And you're sure he wasn't lying?" Sam knew he sounded stupid, and was grasping at straws, but at this point he really didn't care what the woman thought of him.

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, he could've been lying, right? Maybe to throw people off the track."

"Officer, if that's all, I really have other phones to answer."

"No, wait," Sam said as he thought about it some more, "can you give me a list of all out-of-state license's plates that were reported stolen from anywhere in Toledo, Ohio?"

The woman was silent for a moment, and Sam knew she must've thought he was crazy. "There were fifteen out-of-state license plates that were reported stolen in Ohio in August," she replied and proceeded to give him the numbers. "Huh, that odd."

"What?"

"Well, seven of them were reported stolen from the same place."

"Where's that?"

"From a restaurant called, The Father's Dominion. Kind of a weird name for a restaurant, wouldn't you say."

"No, I'm thinkin' the name sounds just about right," Sam said as he thought of the bald headed men with strange tattoos. "Thanks, you've been a lot of help."

Sam hung up and dialed for directory assistance.

"City and state please?" a woman with a whiny voice asked.

"Toledo, Ohio."

"And how may I help you?"

"Need the number for a restaurant called, The Father's Dominion."

"Just one moment please."

Within a few seconds a recorded voice came on the line, and said, "Area code, 419-382-7345 . . . that number again is Area Code, 419-382-7345, and can be directly accessed by pressing one now."

Sam pressed the button and wait for someone to answer.

"The Father's Dominion, how may I help you?" came a deep masculine voice from the other end of the line.

"Yeah, I'm looking for directions to your restaurant?"

"We're located on South Detroit Ave next to Kroger's Grocery store."

"Is the owner there right now?"

"As a matter of fact he is, would you like to speak to him?"

"No, but is he going to be around for a while, I'm kinda lookin' for a job and would really like to speak to him," Sam lied effortlessly. "You are hiring, right?"

"Not sure if we're hiring at the moment, but Dominic should be here for the next hour or so, if you want to stop by."

"I'll do that, thanks." Sam hung up, and pocketed his phone.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sam strode into The Father's Dominion and glanced around. The room was darkly lit, amber sconces adorning the walls, with two chandeliers hanging from the ceiling on opposite ends of the room. Rich golden tablecloths covered all the tables with lit candles placed atop of them for added light. The walls had been painted a deep hunter shade of green, with expertly painted pictures of vineyards hanging on them. All-in-all it was definitely not a place that Dean or Sam would ever think to go for dinner.

Spotting a waitress, Sam made his way through the empty dining area. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Dominic?" Sam asked the young waitress with short-cropped wavy raven-colored hair.

"My father is over there," she gestured to a corner table where a man, with as equally dark hair, sat alone. "He usually doesn't like to be disturbed while he's eating though."

"It'll only take a moment," Sam said and was about to walk away, but noticed that nearly hidden beneath the short sleeve of her uniform was the same strange tattoo that the bartender had described to Sam. "Interesting tattoo," he motioned to it, "what do the cross and sickles stand for?" Sam gave her his best winsome smile, trying not to look overly interested in the tattoo. "If you don't mind my asking?"

"It means protectors of the father," she replied with a smile.

"Was kinda lookin' to get myself a tattoo, where'd you get that one done?"

"Oh, I didn't get . . . ." her voice trailed off as she glanced in Dominic's direction, "I really have to get back to work." She left Sam to stand there, hurrying off toward the kitchen, but before she'd gone, he noticed the definite look of fear in her dark brown eyes.

Sam strode over to where Dominic sat, and without being asked, he took a seat beside the older man.

"Can I help you?" Dominic asked, narrowing his pale blue eyes on Sam.

"Yeah, think you can," Sam leaned over the table, "I'm lookin' for my brother."

"And why would I know where your brother is?" Dominic smirked as he raised a glass of wine to his lips and took a long leisurely drink, apparently not the least bit intimidated by Sam.

"His name's Dean, an' I think maybe you might know him." Sam smiled politely, although his tightly clenched fists belied the gesture. "Six foot tall, scruffy sandy brown hair, green eyes, does that ring any bells?"

"Can't say that it does." Dominic returned his attention to cutting his steak. Taking a bite of the overly rare meat, he motioned to the plate with his fork, "You should really try the ribeye steak, best in town. On the house, of course." He smiled at Sam.

"Not hungry."

"Suit yourself," he said as he went back to eating.

Sam glanced up at the portrait directly behind Dominic, and noticed the similarities between the older man and the young girl in the painting. There was a sad almost fearful look in the girl's pale blue eyes that reminded him of the waitress he'd just spoken to. And although he didn't actually think the girl in the painting and waitress were related, they both had short black hair and delicate features.

"Is that your daughter?" Sam asked as he pointed to the portrait.

"Was my daughter. Shannon was killed," Dominic replied stoically. "She left home, got involved with some guy and died because of it."

"When did she die?" Sam asked, thinking back to the night that Bloody Mary had come after Dean and him. Dean's eyes had bled that night. He'd had a secret and someone died. If Shannon had died because of Dean it would certainly explain why Dominic had abducted him.

"About a year ago." Dominic continued to eat his dinner as if the thought of his daughter being murdered didn't bother him in the slightest.

"This man murdered your daughter?"

"Didn't say that, said she died because of him." The older man looked up at Sam, and quirked a sardonic brow. "No one takes what belongs solely to me. No one."

Horrible understanding dawned upon Sam. Dean must have been trying to help Shannon escape from her father, and Dominic hunted Shannon down and killed her because she'd left him. And if the man was crazed enough to kill his own child, Sam had no doubt he would kill Dean as well.

"Want my brother back now."

"If I did have your brother," Dominic's steely gaze locked with Sam's, almost daring Sam to look away, "I can guarantee you one thing for certain, you'd never ever find him."

"I wouldn't count on it. I'm really, _really_ good at finding things when I set my mind to it."

Dominic chuckled as he wiped his face with the cloth napkin that had been sitting on his lap. "But what if there was nothing left to find?"

A shiver of fear ran the length of Sam's spine, his heart constricting painfully at the thought that Dean might already be dead. Not wanting Dominic to realize how badly his last words had affected him, Sam clenched his fists even tighter, hiding the fact that his hands were trembling.

"If you so much as harmed one single hair on his head, I'm gonna kill you." Sam narrowed his eyes on the man, his gaze turning deadly. "An' that's a promise."

"One hair, huh?" Dominic threw back his head and laughed as if Sam had said something incredibly funny. "Don't think that's gonna be a problem," he uttered between barking laughter.

For a moment Sam couldn't think of why Dominic would find what he'd said so damn funny, but then realization struck him with such force, it nearly staggered him. All the men who had abducted Dean had their hair shaved off, and Sam was now certain that they'd done that to Dean as well.

"You freakin' sonuvabitch," Sam growled, and leaping to his feet, he lunged at the man.

Drawing back his fist to strike the gloating man in the face, Sam's wrist was caught in an ironlike grip. So intent on getting answers about Dean, Sam had failed to sense the dangerous situation he'd placed himself in. And as the man who had grabbed hold of his arm, swung Sam around to face him, Sam counted at least seven of Dominic's men standing behind him.

Sam jerked his arm back hard, yanking free, and slammed his fist into the bald man's beefy face, quickly following it with a well-placed shot to the kidneys. A rush of air escaped the man as he doubled over.

All the rest of the men converged on Sam. Sam swung wildly as they grabbed hold of him, punching, kicking and elbowing them in an attempt to break free, but soon by sheer number alone, they overpowered him. Knocking him to the ground, they held onto him firmly as the waitress he'd spoken to earlier came forward. In her hand she held a syringe full of clear liquid, and as she knelt beside Sam, he could almost see a look of regret in her face.

Sam fought all the harder against the men, knowing that if they drugged him, he would never find Dean. Thrashing violently, he almost broke free, but someone kneed him in the stomach, and they regain their hold on him as he fought desperately to regain his breath.

The needle pierced his skin, and he let out a low hiss as the liquid coursed through him. Within a few minutes, his body began to relax against his own will. Valiantly, he fought against the affects of the drug, trying to keep his eyes open, although as the moments ticked by he found it more and more impossible to do so. His thoughts began to swirl dreamlike as his arms and legs went limp. The men released their hold on Sam, and all stood to circle him.

"Is he to be a member of the family?" Sam vaguely heard one of the men ask.

"I'm not sure yet," came Dominic's distorted sounding voice, "he'd make for a nice addition, but then I'd have to kill his brother. Not sure I want to do that just yet."

"Should we kill him then," another faint voice said as Sam struggled uselessly against the drug taking a firm hold on him.

"No, just make sure he's damaged enough that he wouldn't be going anywhere for quite sometime," Dominic laughed as he kicked Sam squarely in the ribs, "just in case his brother fails to fall in line." He knelt beside Sam, gripped hold of Sam's hair, and yanked him forward. "Think it might just be fun to try and break you." He quirked a brow, and smiled cruelly at Sam. "Think maybe I'll break your brother then kill him, an' then I'll come after you." Dominic forcefully pushed Sam backward, Sam's head colliding hard with the ground. He stood and strode away from Sam, calling back over his shoulder, "Yeah, think that's exactly what I might just do."

"D-Dean . . . ." All thoughts left Sam as his eyelids fluttered closed, and darkness overtook him.


	5. Chapter 5

_okay, so from here on out, i would have to say the story gets quite brutal...so fair warning!! hope everyone enjoys!! thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! let me know what you think cause i really do live for your comments!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Five_

Dean wasn't really sure anymore how long he'd been trapped in the cell. It felt as if it must have been at least a week, but in truth it probably wasn't more than a few days. He was well beyond tired, and the pain in his back never seemed to easy up for even a moment. But every time his eyes closed for more than a few seconds one of the Father's men would find some cruel way in which to wake him up again.

The constant droning of the Father's voice over the loudspeaker was slowly starting to wear him down, and he thought it odd that none of the other men in the room even seemed to notice it. Dean knew the Father was trying to break him, to make him into one of his followers, and realized that things would get a lot worse for him if Sam didn't find him soon.

Yet, Dean was terrified that Sam would find him, only to get trapped there as well. There were just way to many of the Father's men, and Dean really didn't believe Sam would be able to find their father to help, and so he would be all alone. And if he was alone, Dean would rather Sam never found him at all.

"Deep in thought, Child?" came the Father's stern voice from outside the cell. "Trying to figure out a way to escape?"

"No, was jus' thinkin' how it's gonna feel to plunge my knife into your freakin' heart," Dean mumbled as he wearily glanced up at the man dressed in crimson robes. "Probably will cut your freakin' hair off first . . . owe ya for that." Dean swallowed hard, thinking how pathetic he must look, kneeling naked on the ground with his hair all shaved off.

The Father laughed as he strode to where Dean was, gripped the top of Dean's head, and jerked it backward so Dean was forced to look him straight in the eyes. "Such a willful determined little child you are. But then again, it's only been three days. I would say that within a week or two, you'll fall in line very nicely."

"Never gonna happen."

"That's what they all say at first," the Father chided. "But somehow everyone seems to change their tune after a while."

"Maybe cause they're not me." Dean yawned tiredly, but tried his hardest to suppress it, not wanting the older man to know how truly exhausted he really was.

"Tired, Child?" A self-satisfied smirk lit across the man's craggy features. "Bet you're hungry as well." Hearing the Father say this, one of his men brought forth a plate with scraps of meat on it and a bowl of water and set them just out of Dean's reach.

As Dean stared at the meager portion of meat on the plate, he felt his stomach rumble uncomfortably and wondered how long it had actually been since he'd last eaten a meal. "Not hungry."

"Maybe not yet, but you will be. It's a basic human need. Eventually even you will get hungry, Child. I have no doubt of that." The Father knelt down beside Dean. "You know that no one is coming to look for you, right?"

"Not true," Dean weakly replied, having trouble keeping his eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time.

"Then where are they? If anyone cared about you, they would have found you by now."

"They'll find me," Dean staunchly replied, but even as the words slipped from his lips, he realized that his brother might not ever be able to find him no matter how hard Sam might search. "They'll come for me."

"They don't care about you. To them you are worthless and pathetic," the Father said in a cruel and calculating manner.

"If they'd wanted you they would have found you by now," Curly taunted, from where he stood sentry outside the cell, "They're glad you're gone."

"They're glad to be rid of you," Larry agreed as he stepped inside the cell, and dropped down beside Dean. "You're so weak and pathetic in their eyes, don't you see that? It's why they haven't come looking for you."

"That's not . . . it's not true," Dean muttered, trying to block out what they were saying, but couldn't quite manage it.

"It is true."

"They hate you."

"Never wanted you."

"Wished you'd never been born."

"They never cared about you."

"They're glad you're gone."

"They hope you never come back."

"Think they're better off without you."

"To them you're pathetic and weak."

The words came at Dean so fast and furious he couldn't make out who was saying what, and didn't know how to respond. His sleep-deprived mind was so muddled that he couldn't think straight, and their verbal attacks were only making matters worse.

"It's not . . . I mean . . . you're tryin' to . . . ." Confused, Dean squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold onto one clear thought. In his mind, he recalled the day he'd showed up at Stanford, and remembered how angry and disappointed Sam had been to see him there. There hadn't even been a single hint of happiness in Sam's hazel eyes to see Dean that night. Sam hadn't wanted him there, he'd made that point quite clear. Maybe they were right, maybe no one did care if he disappeared. _No, they're just tryin' to confuse me. Can't let them do this to me. _"Not true."

"Where are they, Child?" the Father asked. "If they really loved and cared about you, then why aren't they here right now?"

"You're worthless to them."

"Weak."

"Pathetic."

"You mean nothing to them."

"They're better off without you."

"They hate you, wish you were dead."

"Wish you were never born."

"Glad you're gone."

"Hope you never come back."

"They don't care about you. Never did."

"Not true . . . you're tryin' to confuse me." Dean buried his head beneath his arms, trying desperately to block out what they were saying, but their voices only grew louder in response to his efforts.

"Where are they, Child?"

"They aren't coming for you."

"Glad you're gone."

"They hope you're gone for good."

"They hope you're dead."

"They never wanted you."

"They wished you were never born."

"Think you're pathetic."

"Weak."

"Useless."

"Never wanted you."

"They hate you."

"It's not true," Dean mumbled dejectedly. Slowly shaking his head, he lowered it to the ground, and curled himself up into a tight ball. "Jus' stop . . . please, jus' stop this . . . they do care about me."

"Tell me your name," the Father commanded, quickly changing his tactics and further confusing Dean as he motioned for his men to unlock Dean's shackles.

"Dean."

"No, your name is Child." The Father rose to stand, and glanced down at Dean. "Say it. Say that your name is Child."

"N-name's Dean," Dean muttered again as he glared up at the Father.

"Very well, Child, I see that I'm going to be forced to punish you yet again for your continued disobedience."

With that, the two men grabbed hold of underneath Dean's armpits, and roughly hauled him to his feet. Dean stumbled, his legs numb and useless from being kept in the same bent, awkward position for the past several days. Curly and Larry's grip tightened around his arms as they dragged him across the room.

Dean weakly fought against them, but lack of sleep, hunger and his injuries had drained him of all his normal strength. But as he noticed they were about to chain him to the wall, making escape once again impossible, he redoubled his efforts. His legs were still all but useless, but that didn't stop him from trashing about wildly. Bending forward slightly, Dean jerked his head back and slammed it into Curly's face.

Curly let out a yelp of pain as he clutched at his face with his free hand, and his grip on Dean's arm loosened. Dean yanked free of Curly's grasp and then Larry's as well, but without them to hold him upright, Dean immediately dropped to the floor in a heap. Cursing silently under his breath, Dean slowly crawled toward the entrance, all-the-while hearing the Father's merciless laughter at his pathetic attempt to escape.

"Maybe I should have called you Baby instead as you're crawling feebly around on the floor like a tiny little infant," the Father said as he strode toward Dean, and stomped on his back.

Dean fell flat to the ground, and the Father stepped on his throbbing back, pinning him to the floor. The Father turned, grounding his foot into the welts that covered Dean's back, and motioned for Curly and Larry to pick Dean up.

The two men made quick work of chaining Dean to the wall, not about to let him get the upper hand on them a second time. With his bare stomach to the cold cement wall, Dean couldn't see what the Father planned to do to him now, but had a feeling it was going to be far worse than the cane he'd beat him with before.

The Father stalked to Dean, leaned in and menacingly whispered into his ear, "What is you name?"

"Dean."

"Huh, you know what, I was really hoping you would say that." He laughed as he moved out of Dean's line of vision.

A moment later, Dean heard the hiss of a whip as it whizzed through the air and cracked against his back, slicing through his flesh. Squeezing his eyes shut tight, his fingers clenched as he suppressed a cry of pain.

"Your name?" the Father asked again.

"Dean," Dean said, breathing hard against the burning pain trailing down his bare back.

Again he heard the sound of the whip slice through the air, leaving another fiery trail down his muscular back and cutting deeply into his buttocks. Two more times the whip sliced through his flesh before the Father hesitated again.

"Your name?"

Dean trembled uncontrollably as his legs gave out on him, the iron chains firmly secured around his wrists the only things keeping him upright. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down in to his eyes, and it took every ounce of sheer willpower he had not to give into the madman.

"D-Dean," he managed to choke out, and felt the sting of the whip once more as it blazed another fiery path down his skin.

Again and again the leather whip unfurled across Dean's flesh with his cries of pain growing louder with each searing cut of flesh. Bloodied crisscrossed patterns riddled his skin before the Father finally stopped once more. Even the chains were not enough to keep Dean standing any longer. With knees buckling, he hung limply by the chains, the muscles in his arms straining and burning against the full brunt of his weight.

"Your name?" the Father asked, and without having to see it, Dean could picture the gloating smirk on the man's face.

Dean swallowed hard, his throat constricting painfully as he muttered, "Child,"and lowered his head as stark humiliation overwhelmed him.


	6. Chapter 6

_okay, as i said before this chappy is a little brutal...well, i guess more than just a little brutal so fair warning. thanks for reading and for reviewing!! as always, let me know wwhat you think as it is the only way i know i'm getting it right!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Six_

Dean knelt very still inside his cell, even the slightest movement causing him excruciating pain. A tremor of anger and humiliation flared within him as Curly once again shaved his head clean of any growth of hair, but it quickly ebbed as he was just too damn tired and sore to put up any sort of real resistance.

Flecks of dark hair showered down over his eyes like blackened snow to cover the ground around him. His heart and spirit shattered a little more with each tiny strand of hair that fell away from his head. No one was coming for him. No one cared that he was alone and dying inside.

His stomach rumbled and clenched painfully as he stared at the remains of the food that had been once again placed just out of his reach. Earlier in day, or maybe it was the night, Dean had watched a huge black rat scurry across the cement floor, sniff the food on the plate, and then began gnawing at it. In his wildest imaginings he'd never thought he'd be envious of a rat, but as his mouth watered hungrily at the sight of the food being devoured, he sadly realized that he was. The damn little creature was free, it could eat or sleep whenever it wished too, and it didn't care if anyone loved or needed it.

The best Dean could figure at least two more days had past since he'd been abducted. He'd been trapped in a cell for at least five days, and yet his brother or father hadn't even bothered to try and find him. He could almost understand his father's reasons for not searching for him. Finding and killing the yellow-eyed bastard that had killed their mother always came first. Period. It had always been that way and always would be. Dean understood that, although the constant ache in his heart belied his attempts to excuse the fact that his father hadn't come for him.

Sam was another matter entirely. Dean had foolishly pinned all his hopes for escape on his younger brother, but Sam never showed. In fact, he had probably gone back to college. That was where Sam truly wanted to be, he'd made that point quite clear several times. Without Dean around to drag him from town to town on some damn hunt, Sam had more-than-likely headed straight back to Stanford, glad to be free of Dean. And that thought was the knife that plunged so deeply into Dean's heart, he could scarcely breathe and wished that the Father would just kill him and get it over with.

"You know no one is coming for you, don't you?" Curly said as he finished shaving off Dean's hair. "No one cares if you live or die."

"Th-they'll come." Dean licked his dried cracked lips, finding it hard to speak as his throat was so parched, and once again his eyes were drawn to the bowl of water near the entrance of the cell.

"Thirsty?" Curly asked with a chuckle. "Bet you could really use a drink right about now."

"Naw, I'm good," Dean muttered in a hoarse scratchy whisper.

"Really?" Curly said as he ground his opened hand down into Dean's back, eliciting a deep throaty groan from Dean. "Bet if I set that bowl of water down in front of you, you'd lap it up like the lowest of mangy dogs." And as if to prove his point, Curly stood, walked the short distance to the water, and bent to grab the bowl. Turning, he placed it down directly in front of Dean. "Go ahead, it's right there in front of you now. Prove me right."

Dean tried his damnedest to look away from the water, but his gaze kept being drawn back to it. His Winchester resolve to suck it up and deal with the pain, to not give in or give up faltered and died away as he watched the tiny ripples in the water. He knew his father wouldn't understand, would think him weak and pathetic, but he was just too damn thirsty, and was glad at that moment that his father wasn't there to see how far he'd fallen.

Closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the gloating look on Curly's face, Dean leaned over and lapped greedily at the cool water. He hadn't had more than a few swallows before Curly snatched the bowl away, spilling the remainder of the water on the floor in front of Dean.

"See, just like a mangy dog," Curly taunted cruelly, and then turned as he heard someone clear their throat from behind him.

"Thought I said he wasn't to have anything to eat or drink until I said so?" the Father questioned, quirking a brow as he stared at Curly.

"Didn't really give him much of a drink," Curly quickly defended his actions. "Was just tryin' to prove how weak he was."

"Who is the head of this family," the Father said as he took a slow deliberate step toward Curly, and placed his hand on the shorter man's shoulder.

"You are, Father," Curly hastily replied, and Dean could almost detect a tremor of fear in the man's voice.

"And are my words law?"

"Yes, Father." Curly trembled as the words tumbled from his mouth.

"And you understand that I cannot have people disobeying me or the family would suffer for it?"

"I was jus — " Curly abruptly stopped speaking as the Father yanked him forward and plunged a knife into his stomach, jerking upward to tear through the man's flesh. Curly dropped to his knees, blood spilling from the gaping wound. Weakly he grasped onto the Father's robes, trying to steady himself as he gasped for breath.

"You are forgiven," the Father said as he grabbed a hold of the man's head, yanked it back and drove the blade into Curly's throat. Pushing the dying man aside, the Father looked to Dean, and smirked. "No one disobeys me, do you understand that, Child?"

Dean gave a subtle nod, and then lowered his head.

"I asked if you understood," the Father asked a second time, kneeling beside Dean as two of his men silently dragged Curly's body away. "The correct response is, yes, Father, I understand," he hesitated for a moment, his grin deepening, "now let me hear you say it."

"I understand," Dean murmured, a tight knot forming in his throat at having to do as the crazed man had commanded.

"Say, I understand, Father," the Father said as he gripped a hold of Dean's chin, and forced him to look the older man square in the eyes.

Dean jerked his head away, not about to call the man Father. "Have a father, you're not him."

"Still the stubborn insolent child, aren't you?"

"An' you're still a freakin' sonuvabitch."

The Father chuckled as he gestured for one of his men to come forward. "See, that might actually hurt my feelings if you didn't look so damn pathetic while saying it. But then again, you don't actually know how weak and childlike you look, do you?" The man who the Father had motioned to handed him a large mirror, and the Father placed it in front of Dean. "How can I possibly take anything you say seriously, when you look like this?"

Dean looked at the image in the mirror, for a moment not recognizing it as his own reflection. The bald man in the mirror wasn't even a pale comparison of what Dean knew he looked liked. Lifeless hollow eyes that seemed to be drowning in sadness stared back at him. Dark shadows rimmed the man's eyes, his ashen haggard face making the shadows seem all the more predominant. Dean licked his dried, cracked lips and watched as the man groveling naked on the floor did the same.

The man just couldn't be him. This man's walls were crumbled and broken, his shattered heart laid bare for all to see. There was no strength or determination to survive in his dull lifeless green eyes. This man had realized that no one was coming to find him. He knew that no one cared if he lived or died. This man knew that everything the Father had said about him was true. He knew he was weak and pathetic, and realized that everyone else knew it as well.

"This is what everyone sees when they look at you, Child," the Father taunted, "this is why no one cares about you. You are nothing . . . have always been nothing. If you died this very moment, no one would even care."

Dean's face crumpled as he looked from the Father to the image in the mirror again, and knew the madman was right. Sam didn't care. His father had never cared. They'd both left him. He'd given them everything that he had to give, and they'd left him.

"Of course it doesn't have to be that way." The Father set aside the mirror and lifted Dean's chin so he was once again looking the man in his pale blue eyes. "In my family there would always be a place for you," he coaxed, his voice soft and placating, "we would always look out for you and care for you."

Dean tried his damnedest not to listen, but his aching soul yearned for what the father offered. He tried so freakin' hard to be what his family needed, and they'd cast him aside without so much as a second thought. He needed them desperately and yet no matter how hard he'd tried they'd never needed him in the same way.

"The family would love you totally and completely, and would never leave you to doubt that, Child. Don't you deserve to be loved?"

"St-stop this," Dean muttered weakly, turning his head away from the man, not wanting to contemplate what he'd offered any longer or he knew he would give in. "My family . . . they care about me."

"And yet they left you. Doesn't really sound like they care about you at all. I would never leave one of my children alone."

"Y-you're tryin' . . . you're jus' . . . st-stop tryin' to confuse me." Dean squeezed his eyes shut, in an attempt to block out what the man was saying, but couldn't quite manage it. "Have a family . . . Sam . . . ." his voice trailed off as he thought once again how Sam had left him to go to college, and had completely alienated Dean from his new life. Sam hadn't wanted him around, had run off to college to be as far away from Dean as possible.

"You know," the Father began as he withdrew a long, thin sharpened rod from the pocket of his robe, "a person can endure a helluva lot of physical pain, but crush the heart and they will be lost."

He motion for the man who had brought him the mirror to unlock one of Dean's cuffs. The man quickly complied with the Father's orders. Once he'd released Dean's wrist from the shackle, the man grabbed hold of it and twisted it around so Dean's palm faced upward.

"I can torture a man in gruesome, despicable ways," the Father said in a low menacing voice as he slowly pierced the skin of Dean's forearm with the sharpened rod. Dean clenched his teeth as he tried to yank his arm away, but the man holding it, tightened his grip, forcing Dean to endure the pain. "Can kill him if I desire, but I have learned that with intense pain comes clear understanding." With agonizingly slow speed, the Father drove the rod all the way through Dean's skin, until the sharpened end poked out on the other side. "You will learn that as well," he said as he forcefully jerked on the steel rod and it ripped through Dean's flesh, blood dripping out to cover the floor.

Dean squinched his eyes closed tight, breathing hard against the searing pain. Somehow he'd managed not to scream out, and was thankful that he hadn't given the madman the satisfaction of knowing how much pain he was in.

Surprisingly, the Father just laughed in response. "You see, I just proved my own point," he said as he motioned for several more men to come forward into the cell. "And now we are going to see just how much pain you can endure, Child. I am curious as to how long it will take you to break physically."

As the man unlocked Dean's other shackle, two beefy looking men grabbed hold of him by his arms, hauled him into a kneeling position, and held him firmly there. Another shorter man, stepped forward, carrying what looked like large sharpened fishing hooks in his hands. He knelt beside Dean, and before Dean had a chance to prepare himself, he drove the first hook through the skin of Dean's chest just about his right nipple.

"Guhh . . . you freakin' sonuvabitch. Gonna kill you." Dean breathed hard as he glared at the shorter man, who was about to insert the other hook into his chest. With muscles straining, he fought against the men who held onto his arms, but was no match for them, and they quickly subdued him. Wincing, Dean groaned as he felt the other hook pierce his flesh just above his left nipple.

When the man was finished piercing Dean's flesh with the hook, he expertly tied them off to thick rope rigging. The men hauled Dean to his feet and dragged him out of the cell toward the far side of the room, and he noticed for the first time that there was a some sort of weird suspension gear hanging from it.

Horrible understanding struck him as the shorter man began to attach the two ropes to the suspension rigging. "No, freakin' way," he growled as he redoubled his efforts to break free, but once again his lack of strength made it impossible to fight his way out of what was about to happen.

Once the shorter man with dark blue eyes was finished with the task at hand, the two others yanked on the ropes. Dean's feet lifted off the floor, the skin on his chest stretched taut, bunching and pulling away from his body as his full weight was suspended by his skin alone. A cry of pain burst from his lips as he slowly swung back and forth several feet above the ground.

"In many Native American cultures, suspension was a right of passage. It is the same here as well," the Father said as he came to stand beside Dean. "With pain comes startling clarity. No one cares about you, Child. The sooner you realize that the sooner all the pain will stop."

"G-go to hell, y-you freakin' sonuvabitch," Dean snarled through gritted teeth. In response, the men pulled harder on the ropes. Another scream tore from his lips as his overly-taut skin stretched even further, and he felt it tear, blood trickling down his chest from beneath the hooks.

"What is my name? Think hard before you answer, Child," the Father cautioned as he quirked a sardonic brow. "Because if your skin rips away, we will just start over. And I can promise you that we will do it over and over again until you get the answer right."

Every lesson Dean's father had ever taught him screamed for him not to give in. But his father wasn't there. In fact, he'd never been there when Dean had needed him most. He'd never cared. He'd never loved Dean. In so many ways he'd proven that time and time again.

Dean was fairly certain he could endure more of the Father's torture to protect whatever remnants were left of his shattered heart. He was no stranger to suffering, but in the end he was just too damned broken to even care anymore. "Father."

"Who's Father am I?"

Dean lowered his head, lips quivering as he mumbled, "My Father."

"Good." the Father smiled with satisfaction. Turning on his heel, he strode away, calling back over his shoulder, "He's to stay that way until tomorrow, and then we brand him."


	7. Chapter 7

_so, new chappy...hope everyone is enjoying the story so far!! thanks for all the awesome reviews!! let me know what you think so far, i just love to know if i am getting it right!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Seven_

A pain-filled groan escaped Sam's lips as he tried to open his eyes. One of them was totally swollen shut, and the other he could only manage to open halfway before the pain it caused forced him to close it again. With them closed, he listened, trying to determine where he was and also why he was in so much pain. Through the haze of pain and ringing in his ears, he faintly heard a steady beeping noise, and wondered momentarily what it might be. Realization slowly dawned on him that it was the sound of a heart monitor, and that he was in a hospital.

Panic gripped hold of him as he desperately tried to recall what had happened, but his mind was so muddled that he couldn't think clearly. The last thing he remembered was that Dean had gone out for a drink and after that everything seemed to be one big blur.

He tried to call out to Dean, but something was keeping him from speaking. Shifting his throbbing head slightly to the side, he squinted at the tube that ran from his mouth to an oxygen machine, and panicking, he started to fight against it.

"Relax," an older woman in a nurse's uniform ordered as she placed a gentle but firm hand against Sam's shoulder. "You're in the hospital, do you understand that?" When she saw Sam nod, she continued, "You were brought in here unconscious five days ago."

Sam's brows furrowed in confusion, not understanding what had happened or why he was there. Again he tried to fight against the tube to speak, needing to know where Dean was, but nothing came out.

"Someone beat you up really bad, an' pretty much left you for dead," the nurse with graying chestnut-colored hair and kindly brown eyes said in answer to one of Sam's unasked questions. "Lucky for you that a young woman found you and called an ambulance or you might not be here right now."

Sam gestured toward the tube in his mouth, hoping that she would understand that he needed it removed so he could find Dean.

She smiled and gave a quick nod. "I'll go and find a doctor to remove that, okay?" The nurse left the room, and returned shortly with a doctor.

"Hi, my name is Doctor Marshal, and I've been overseeing your care since you came into the ER." The middle-aged male doctor glanced over Sam's chart, and then looked to Sam. "Son, I'm going to remove your intubation tube now," he said, placing the chart down. "When I tell you to, I want you to take the deepest breath possible and then blow out, like if you were blowing out the candles on a birthday cake. Understand?"

Sam nodded in response. The nurse turned off the oxygen machine, and unhooked the tube leading to Sam's mouth as the doctor moved to stand beside Sam. The nurse headed to the other side of the bed and prepared the suction equipment. After checking to make sure Sam was breathing on his own, the doctor began to remove the tube while the nurse suctioned out any secretions.

"Okay, need for you to take a deep breath and blow out for me now." Sam breathed in deeply and then blew hard against the tube, gaging as he felt it slide up from the inside of his throat. "Just once more an' it'll be out."

Again Sam did as the doctor had asked, coughing hard as the tube slid out of his mouth, and continued to cough afterwards. The doctor grabbed the stethoscope from around his neck and evaluated Sam's airway, making sure there were no obstructions and smiled, seeming satisfied with what he heard.

"Dean," Sam said in a hoarse whisper, and then coughed again.

"Try not to talk, Son, you could damage your vocal cords," Doctor Marshal said as he examined Sam.

"Dean," Sam said again in a breathless whisper, ignoring the doctor. "Wh-ere's Dean?"

Doctor Marshal looked to the nurse for an answer to Sam's question, and she gave a slight shrug in response.

"We found your cell phone and tried calling your Father and Dean," the nurse said in a low comforting voice, "but we weren't able to get a hold of either of them. We did however get a hold of your Uncle." She smiled reassuringly at Sam. "He just left a little while ago to get some rest and said he would be back in about an hour or so."

"Uncle?" Sam whispered, narrowing his one good eye on her in confusion.

"Your Uncle Bobby," the nurse quickly supplied. "When he found out you were in the hospital he came right away."

If Bobby had come to the hospital instead of Dean there had to be something wrong with his brother. Dean would never have left Sam alone otherwise. His brother had spent his whole life protecting Sam, and Sam knew in his heart that something had to be terribly wrong if Dean wasn't there.

"Gotta get outta here . . . have to find Dean." Sam threw back the blankets, and tried to get out of bed only to fall backwards against the pillow, his head spinning and throbbing so viciously he thought he might throw up.

"Listen, son, you're in no condition to go anywhere," Doctor Marshal said as he lightly pressed down against Sam's abdomen. "You're recovering from surgery and have been in a coma for the past five days. You really need to rest and regain your strength."

"Surgery?" Sam winced, jerking involuntarily to the side as the doctor continued to poke and prod at him. Drawing in slow shaky breaths, Sam squinched his eyes trying to quell the violent churning in his stomach.

"When you came into the hospital you had some internal injuries and bleeding. We were able to repair the damage, but a day after the first operation there were complications." Doctor Marshal drew in a breath, slowly released it, and then continued, "Your spleen ruptured and we were forced to perform emergency surgery to remove it."

Sam vaguely heard all the man had to say, his mind wandering back and forth from all that was wrong with him to Dean. He was certain there was something he was forgetting, something important and yet he just couldn't wrap his mind around it.

The doctor took the penlight out of his pocket and wave it front of Sam's right eye. Then he carefully pried open Sam's left eye and did the same thing before grabbing the medical chart to jot down his assessment of Sam's overall condition.

"You also sustain a moderate concussion which may cause some dizziness, nausea, blurred vision, confusion, possible memory loss of events that happened before the injury occurred — "

"Huh . . . memory loss?" Sam whispered, now beginning to understand why his mind seemed so out of focus.

"Sometimes with a moderate concussion temporary memory loss occurs."

"When does it come back?" Sam asked in urgent desperation, sure the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach had nothing to do with the concussion he had. "Need it back now."

"It's really hard to predict, son, sometimes it comes back quickly and other times it takes a while. Do you have any other questions for me?" Doctor Marshal asked as he finished going over Sam's chart, and returned it to the holder at the end of the bed. When Sam gave a curt shake of his head, the Doctor continued, "Alright then, I'll be back to check in on you later. If you need anything the call button is right there," he gestured to the remote on the bedside table, "just push the button for the nurse's station and Nurse Anderson will assist you."

Sam gave a nod, already making plans to leave as soon as both the doctor and nurse were gone. If he was in the hospital because someone had beaten him up so severely that he'd been in a coma for five days, Dean could be badly injured if not already dead, and Sam didn't even want to consider that later of the two. No matter what kind of condition he was in physically, he wasn't about to lay around and wait until he felt better to try and help his brother.

He waited all of two minutes after the doctor and nurse left the room before he threw back the blankets again, and very carefully sat up. Taking slow deep breaths, he closed his one good eye, and mentally tried to quell the dizziness wracking his mind. His stomach heaved violently, bile rising in his throat, and before he could even try to prevent it from happening, he threw up all over himself.

After taking a few moments to regain whatever composure he had left, Sam carefully removed the IV in his arm and then slowly made his way to his feet. Grabbing onto the IV pole, he tried to steady himself as everything shifted in and out of focus. With body trembling, he made his way across the hospital room, almost falling over twice before he finally found his clothes.

As he took off his hospital gown, his shaky breath caught in his throat as he noticed all the bruises and bandages covering his lean muscular body, and again thought of Dean. His heart clenched painfully fearing that he might already be too late to save his brother. If someone had beaten him this badly, then where was Dean? Why hadn't he been there as well when the girl had found Sam and had called for an ambulance?

It just didn't make any sense to Sam, unless someone had taken his brother. As he eased an arm through the sleeve of his flannel shirt, his thoughts strayed to his last clear memory before he'd been attacked. Dean had gone out for a drink, and Sam had stayed at the motel to do some research. The only logical explaination for why they wouldn't have been together when Sam was beaten up was if he'd gone looking for Dean, and someone or something attacked him. _If I went looking for him, he must've been missing or something took him. But why would someone want to take him?_

Sam finished dressing, and leaning heavily on the IV pole he trudged to the door, opened it and headed out into the hallway, leaving the IV pole behind. Using the wall for support, he slowly made his way down the long corridor. At the nurse's station, he waited until no one was looking in his direction, and then slipped by them, heading straight toward the elevator.

When the doors slid open, he stepped inside the elevator followed by two rough-looking, bald headed men. Sam moved toward the back of the elevator and gripped onto the handrail to hold himself upright, already drained of all his strength. Closing his good eye, he listened as one of the bald headed men talked to someone on his cell phone, and waited for the doors to slide open once again.

"Yeah, it's me," the man said in a deep gruff voice, "got a problem." he hesitated, listening to whomever was on the other end of the line. "No, things haven't gone as expected . . . ."

Without opening his eyes, Sam could feel the weight of the man's stare on him, and lowered his head, not wanting the man to think he was listening in on his private conversation.

Yeah, right now," the man responded to the person he was talking to on the phone. "I thought so . . . yeah, just like you said . . . I dunno . . . would've thought so . . . yeah, really bad."

A strange uneasy feeling overwhelmed Sam as he continued to listen, although he couldn't make heads or tails out of the conversation.

"Alright, we can do that . . . no, it definitely won't be a problem . . . uh huh . . . where should we go?"

Sam opened his good eye a crack, and watched the exchange of expressions between the two men. Although the one man couldn't hear the conversation going on from the other end of the line, he seemed to understand it just by what he'd heard, and gave a quick nod to his friend.

"You'll meet us there later?"

The man glanced at Sam again, his gaze turning menacing as he noticed that Sam was watching him. Sam quickly looked away, in no condition to fight with the man or his friend.

"Just have them waiting outside, we'll be out in a few moments . . . yeah, right here . . . yes, Father, I understand . . . no, we won't . . . right, just like the other . . . yeah, pretty broken, should be easy to finish off . . . we'll be waiting for you."

The man hung up his cell phone and returned it to the pocket of his black leather jacket. "Just like the other," he said to his friend who nodded in understanding.

"Father is going to meet us there?"

The doors of the elevator slid open, and both men stepped out of it before Sam could hear the man's response. They casually headed for the entrance of the hospital, leaving Sam behind, and he was thankful for it. Something about them and the whole conversation he'd overheard set off clear warning bells inside his head.

Once again using the wall for support, he trudged to the entrance of the building. He waited there for a few minutes, watching the men get into a dark blue car and drive away before he stepped out of the building. It was already dark outside and as he glanced at the emergency parking area he noticed that it was only half-full. There was only one other person, standing outside of the hospital, and Sam gazed in her direction briefly before returning his attention to locating the Impala.

Sam glanced around for a few moments before he realized that he didn't know where Dean's car was. In his rush to get out of the hospital to begin searching for his brother, he'd totally forgotten he didn't have a vehicle. Dean had taken it when he'd gone out for a drink.

Another wave of dizziness washed over him as he heard a noise behind him, and turned his head too quickly to see what it was. A girl with short raven black hair and deep blue eyes, caught a hold of him before he crashed to the ground in a heap.

"Need me to help you back inside," she asked, concernedly. "You don't look very good at all. Kinda weird that they released you." She smiled at him, eyes rounding with sympathy when Sam shook his head in response to her question. "Hate to have to say this, but it looks like your face went through a meat grinder. Are you sure I can't take you back inside?"

"Naw, I'm good," Sam said in a hoarse scratchy whisper as he wiped away the sweat beading on his brow. "Was just lookin' for my car, and realized I don't own a car."

She chuckled. "Must of knocked your head pretty damn hard if you forgot you don't own a car."

He tried to laugh, but lost his balance again, and felt her slip her arm around his waist to get a firmer hold on him. "Thanks," he muttered weakly as he leaned into her for support.

"My name is Morning Dawn, but most people just call me Dawn."

"I'm Sam."

"Well, Sam, if I can't persuade you to go back inside where you belong, how about I give you a lift to your house?" she asked, with a soft winsome smile. "Can't let you just wander around in your condition."

"Are you sure?" Sam replied, glad for the offer as he wasn't sure how he was going to get back to the motel, much less how he was going to start his search for Dean. "I mean if it's too much of a problem, I could call for a cab," he added, although he was pretty sure he didn't have enough money in his wallet to pay for one.

"Well," Dawn hesitated for a moment as if she now wasn't certain it was such a good idea to pick up a virtual stranger, but then pushed onward, "my Father would probably kill me if he knew I was picking up strange men in parking lots. But truthfully, if you tried anything funny I could probably take ya right about now."

"Look that bad, do I?"

"Actually worse than bad," she chuckled, "in fact, I've seen people who were in car wrecks who look better than you look at the moment."

"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence." Sam winced, involuntarily jerking to the side as her grip around his waist tightened slightly. "Guess askin' ya for your phone number would be out of the question then." He tried to smile, but it turned out more like a grimace.

"Oh, I dunno, bet there is quite a handsome face under all those hideous bruises." She laughed again as he narrowed his one good eye on her.

"Thanks, feelin so much better hearin' that."

"Come on, Sam," she gestured toward the side parking lot, "let's get you home before you pass out, cause I may look strong, but there's no way I could hold you up if you decided to do a nose dive on me."

Sam leaned against her, and she helped him around the building to where she'd parked her vehicle. Several times he had to stop and catch his breath before continuing onward. By the time they'd reached the parking area his body was trembling so badly from exertion, Dawn had to wrap both arms around him just to keep him standing upright.

"We're almost there, Sam. Sure you don't want to go back inside the hospital?" she asked again, glancing back in the direction of the building they'd just walked away from. "I mean, you really don't look good."

"M'okay . . . jus' need ta s-sit down fer a moment."

"My van's right there," she nudged her head toward the vehicle that was parked furthest away from the hospital. "You can rest once we get you inside."

As they drew closer to the van, Sam heard the back doors of the van creak open, and watched as four bald-headed men hurried out of the back of the vehicle, and rushed toward him. It took several moments for his clouded mind to realize what they were about to do. Once realization struck, he tried desperately to break free of Dawn's grip on him, but was too weak to manage it.

The four men grabbed a hold of him by the arms, one of them punching him squarely in the stomach as he squirmed to break free, instantly putting an end to his fight. Breathing hard against the burning pain inside his stomach, he fought against the bile rising in his throat, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of seeing him throw up all over himself.

Swallowing hard against the pain, he looked to Dawn, who almost looked regretful for her part in abducting him, and muttered, "W-why?"

"Because you wouldn't go back inside," she replied, tears welling in her eyes. "If you had just stayed where Father had wanted you, you would've been fine. I tried to get you to go back inside, but you wouldn't listen. You should have listened. Why the hell didn't you listen? Now one of you has to die."

"Dawn." One of the men gave her a stern look of warning, and shook his head as his grip tightened around Sam's arm.

"M-my brother?" Sam questioned, horrible understanding finally dawning on him. "Y-you've got my brother."

"No," the man who had spoken before quickly corrected. "We have both of you." An ominous laugh escapes his thin pale lips as he added, "An' it should be pretty damn interesting to see which one of you the Father decides to keep."

Dawn stepped forward, withdrew a syringe from the pocket of her coat. Seeing the needle, Sam redoubled his efforts to break free, to no avail. He just didn't have the strength to fight them all off of him.

"Please don't do this, Dawn . . . p-please, I'm beggin' you."

She jabbed the needle into Sam arm, and he let out a low hiss as he felt the sedative being squeezed into his veins. Dawn leaned in and whispered in his ear, "Sorry, Sam, but the Father commands it, and I cannot disobey him. If it makes you feel any better, I hope the Father chooses you."

"D-doesn't . . . It's d-doesn't make me . . . ." too weak to fight off the affects of the sedative, Sam's voice trailed off as he rapidly lost consciousness.


	8. Chapter 8

_so, new chappy!! hope everyone is enjoying the story so far!! thanks so much for reading and all the awesome reviews!! i really love and live for them!! thanks again!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Eight_

Sam was shaken out of his deep drug induced sleep by the acrid scent of smoke filling the night air and stinging at his eyes. Feeling intense heat rising from somewhere beneath him, Sam was instantly on alert. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he desperately tried to escape from the scorching heat, but found his upper arms and wrists were pinned out to the sides by thick coarse ropes and his feet had been firmly bound together. Fear gripping a hold of him, Sam curled his fingers inward, bending his wrists to try and get at the ropes, but couldn't manage it.

"Guhh . . . come on damn it," he growled through clenched teeth as he twisted his hands in an effort to get to the ropes, but still had no better luck than the first time.

A stiff cold breeze fed the flames, and they rose higher, illuminating the gathering of people standing in a circle around the wooden cross he'd been tied to. One man with long dark hair stepped forward, and glanced up at Sam while the rest bowed their heads reverently.

"Back in the day, they burned witches at the stake," he said, cocking a brow as a wicked grin slowly spread across his face. "Not that I believe in witches, mind you, and I highly doubt the people back then did either." He chuckled, and one by one the rest of his followers did as well, until all Sam could hear was the roar of flames and the wicked sound of demented laughter. "No, I think more-than-likely they just burned the bitches that vexed them . . . you know, people who were a real pain in the ass, much in the same way as you have been to me."

"Where's my brother, you freakin' sonuvabitch," Sam growled as he yanked viciously on the ropes. His strength rapidly gave out on him, and he hung limply from the cross they had erected to burn him from.

"Think I would be more worried about yourself at the moment, Boy." The dark-haired man turned his back on Sam, and addressed the people around the fire. "Children, this is Boy," he motioned toward Sam, and then continued, "he believed himself intelligent enough to outsmart me, and failed miserably." He swung back to face Sam, an evil smirk settling on his features as he added, "Didn't you, Boy?"

"Name's Sam, you freakin' bastard."

"No, it's Boy. No more than a little child playing pretend at being a grown up."

"Gonna kill you when I get free," Sam snarled as he tugged on the ropes that dug deeply into his wrists and biceps.

"The only way you're going to get free is if I decide to keep you, and I'm not so sure you are worth the effort."

The wind kicked up, fanning the growing flames that licked hungrily at the base of the cross, edging their way up toward Sam's bare feet. Panicking, Sam trashed around violently, but his efforts only succeeded in wearing him out all-the-quicker.

In the crowd of people, Sam spied Dawn and their eyes locked briefly before she quickly lowered her head. "Dawn," he hoarsely shouted out to her, "don't let them do this . . . you have to know this is wrong."

Dawn glanced back up at him, her blue eyes filled of sadness and regret. Slowly she took a tentative step forward only to have the madman pin her to her spot with one steely glare.

"Morning Dawn, come here," the dark-haired man commanded, and she instantly obeyed. "Give me your hand." A look of fear and dread overwhelmed her delicate features as she reluctantly complied. Her body visibly trembled as he dragged her over to the fire, and Sam struggled more fervently at the ropes, trying to get to her. Moving to stand behind her, the man grabbed her forearm and forced her to hold her hand over the flames.

"Sam," she cried out as the crazed man pushed her hand further down into the fire. A scream of pain burst from her lips as he continued to hold it in the flames, her fingers burning as she desperately tried to break free of his hold on her.

"Damn it, leave her the hell alone!" Sam hollered, fear coiling in his heart that she would die because of him. As he helplessly watched Dawn writhing around with tears streaming down her face, the image of Jessica burning on the ceiling came to mind. Another woman was going to burned to death because of him. He just couldn't let that happen. "You wanna kill me, go ahead. Just leave her the hell alone."

The man released his hold on Dawn, and a bald-headed man rushed forward and quickly covered her burning hand with a jacket, extinguishing the flames. As the man led her away from the crowd, Sam saw her look back over her shoulder at him before they disappeared from his view.

The dark-haired man's steely gaze followed Sam's to where Dawn had been, and then he looked back at Sam. "My name is Father, and you will always address me as such. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yeah, you wanna be called asshole." Sam squeezed his eyes shut tightly, a hiss of pain escaping him as the crackling flames licked at his feet. "Heard ya loud and clear," he managed to choke out, before another cry of pain burst forth from his lips.

"Douse the flames," the Father order as a mirthless laugh issued from his lips, "I've decided to keep him for the time being." He strode away from the fire with all the girls following behind him, and called back over his shoulder, "Lock him up and I'll be around later to begin his indoctrination."

Heated steam rose up to burn Sam's face and body as the men threw buckets of water on the flames, dousing them. Kicking away the burning embers from around where Sam was hanging, one of the men braced his booted foot against the weakened cross and pushed hard, knocking it to the ground. Sam's head slammed hard against the wooden post, pain wracking his already bruised and battered body. Sparks of light danced before his eyes momentarily before he darkness closed in all around him.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"You pose an interesting dilemma for me," the Father said in a low menacing tone, rousing Sam from his deep sleep. "Probably should've just killed you, but I've always liked a good challenge."

Sam shivered as cool air traveled over his body, and realized he was naked and shackled to the floor in a kneeling position. His shaggy bangs covered his one good eye, making it hard for him to clearly see the man who knelt beside him.

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" he growled through clenched teeth, and grimaced when the older man reached over and dug his hand into Sam's injured side.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam trembled as he let out a low hiss of pain. The Father dug his fingers deeper into Sam's flesh, and grinned when Sam squirmed beneath them. Feeling as if heated daggers were piercing his skin, an involuntarily cry escaped Sam. He bit down on his lower lip, breathing hard against the searing pain wracking his body.

"See, none of the tactics I would normally use to bring a new member into the family will work on you," the Father said as he removed his hand from Sam's side. "You know I have your brother. So can't very well say that he isn't coming to find you, cause well, that would be just ridiculous seeing that he is already here."

"Where the hell is he?" Sam glared at the man, hating his smirking grin and overly confident manner.

"Maybe I should clarify, Boy," the Father hesitated as he glanced around the darkened cellar, and then looked back to Sam. "Can't keep you two both in the same place, now can I? My newest child needs to grow into the family, and with you around that just wouldn't be possible."

"Dean would never give into you. He's stronger than that."

"Those who appear the strongest on the outside, oftentimes are hiding deep seething insecurities that if played upon in just the right way will shatter the person completely." The Father chuckled mirthlessly as he gripped a hold of Sam's chin and forced him to look the man in his pale blue eyes. "Underneath it all, your brother was pathetically weak. His need to be loved and needed by you was his undoing."

"That's not true." Sam jerked his head away, and shook it vehemently. "You're lying. Dean's the strongest person I know, he just wouldn't . . . couldn't . . . ." his voice trailed off as he thought of how much he and their father meant to Dean. Sam couldn't even begin to imagine the lengths Dean would go to in order to protect him from danger. And he was grudging forced to admit that it almost seemed at times that it was all his older brother had to live for. If Dean had thought Sam didn't care, had left him to the hands of this madman, would he given in to the man?

"I can see by the look in your eyes that you know it's true. Without you, your brother was pathetically easy to manipulate," the Father taunted. "Little baby brother didn't care about him. In truth, you're the one who crushed him irreparably, you're the one who dealt the final killing blow." He drew in a deep breath, allowing time for his words to sink in fully before adding, "How does it feel to hold that much power over one single person? Bet you really like wielding it over him, don't you?"

Sam swallowed hard, thinking of all the times that he'd used a single look to get Dean to do whatever he'd wanted him to do. Even when they were kids and he'd wanted something as simple as the last bowl of cereal from the box, all he had to do was give his brother a sad little puppy dog look, and Dean would give in."You don't know what you're talkin' about."

"Oh, I think I know exactly what I'm talking about, and you know I'm right, too." He let out a short barking laugh as Sam lowered his head, ashamed at what he done to Dean. "Call it what you like, Boy, but you've been manipulating your brother all your life. Pulled his strings . . . played on the same weaknesses that I did . . . what makes you any better than me?"

"I'm not like you."

"Huh, really," the Father said as he once again glanced around the room, his steady gaze taking in all the things he'd used to torture people into joining his cult, and then his gaze settled back on Sam. "You know, I can torture a man until he breaks physically, but his mind," he tapped at his temple, "his mind is still his own, until I find a way in. How long did it take you to worm your way into your brother's mind . . . to take it over completely until there was nothing left of him, and it was all about you?"

Sam's lips quivered as he lowered his head even further to the ground, not wanting to hear anymore of what the man had to say. "Jus' stop . . . it's not like that . . . I would never . . . you're tryin' to confuse me."

"Admit it, Boy, you're every bit as evil as me, if not more so. You took your brother's love for you and turned it against him."

"Not true, I care about my brother."

"No, you love that you can manipulate him. I bet it's always been about you hasn't it? Your wants . . . your needs . . . did you ever once stop to think about him?"

Sam thought of the look on his brother's face when he'd told Dean he was going to Stanford. In his brother's green eyes, Sam saw how much it broke him, and yet he'd left for college anyway. And the night Dean had come to find him because their father was missing, instead of showing Dean how glad he was to see him, he'd been cruel and cutting toward him. "I've always thought about . . . cared about Dean."

"Somehow I doubt that very much. If you did, he wouldn't have broken so easily. You're the one who shattered him . . . broke him . . . made him weaker than the smallest of babies."

"Not true."

"Admit it. You've been killing your brother over and over again since the day you were born."

"No, I haven't."

"He's weak and pathetic because of you."

"No."

"You like that he's weak. Like that you can manipulate him. Like that you hold all the power. It makes you feel important, doesn't it."

"Ye — No!" Sam squinched his eyes closed, trying his damnedest to block out what the man was saying. "Not gonna let you confuse me."

The Father gripped a hold of Sam's hair, and yanked his head backward, forcing Sam to look up at him. "When it comes right down to it, you would choose your needs over your brother every time. You are selfish . . . cruel . . . and deserve to suffer." The Father's eyes narrowed on him as he licked his thin, pale lips as if in anticipation. "You've hurt one of my children and I've decided that I'm going to make you suffer the likes of which you've never experienced before. Going to torture you over and over again, until there is nothing left of you." With that said, the Father stood and strode away, leaving Sam alone with all his fears and overwhelming guilt.


	9. Chapter 9

_Another chappy up, kinda gruesome, but not that bad...hope everyone is still enjoying!! thanks so much for reading and reviewing, it really means a lot to me to hear what people are thinking!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Nine_

Dean breathed hard against the excruciating pain as he felt his overly-taut skin tear, blood seeping out from beneath the hooks that held him suspended in midair. He tried to remain as still as possible, knowing that if his skin ripped apart they would just start the whole process all over again, and he just didn't think he had the strength to endure the pain of it again.

After the Father had left him, Dean mentally went over all possible reasons Sam might not have come to rescue him. He'd tried to make up excuses for his brother, but couldn't manage to come up with any that satisfied his need for understanding. Somehow no matter what plausible excuse he'd made for Sam's lack of action, it always circled around to the fact that his little brother just didn't give a damn if Dean lived or died.

Dean wasn't stupid, he knew the way cults worked, knew that the leaders tried to alienate a person from their family. He also understood that people like the Father would make it virtually impossible for the families of the victims to find their loved ones. But the Winchesters weren't like normal families, they knew how to find things most other people couldn't. Sam was especially good at tracking down any leads he came across. He could take the smallest detail that anyone else would pass over as nothing, and twist it around in his mind until he found what he was looking for.

As far as the Winchesters were concerned, people never just disappeared without a trace, they left clues behind. It had always been a part of their job to find out just what happened when no one else could mange it. Of course, Dean had to concede that most of the time they'd only dealt with things of the supernatural nature, but he was certain that Sam should have been able to find some sort of lead by now. He just wasn't searching. He just didn't care.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Any conscious thought Dean might have had dwindled to nothingness after the first several hours of hanging by the cruel suspension gear. More and more, he found it increasingly impossible to stay completely still. His body trembled with exertion as sweat dripped from his forehead and the nape of his neck. A fine sheen of sweat covered his muscular chest and abs as all his muscles jerked and spasmed involuntarily from the strain of being kept taut.

Several times he felt as if his mind was separating from his body to float dreamlike above the darkened room. He looked down on his body and watched in fascination as it twitched and jerked uncontrollably. With trembling fingers, he reached out and touched his own face, trailing transparent fingertips lightly over his dried, split lips as he looked into his own dull green eyes, and could've sworn he looked back at himself. In his own eyes he now could clearly see what everyone else saw when they looked at him. There was nothing in their inky depths, they were hollow and lifeless. He'd given everything that might have brought life and happiness to them away and had gotten nothing in return.

His ghostly fingers trailed further downward to his scarred chest as he relived every hunt that had caused them, and wondered if it was really worth all the pain he'd endured. The life he'd led separated him from anything or anyone he might have ever wanted for himself. And in truth, he'd lived a ghostlike life, no one ever really knowing he was there. He'd always crept into most towns under the radar and left the same way, never taking the time to get to know anyone. Realization struck him then as he moved away from his body to float above the room once more that he'd been dead for as long as he'd been alive. No one really knew him, and no one really cared to either, least of all Sam. His life was nothing more than a meaningless and shallow existence, and he'd never realized it until this very moment.

Slowly he felt himself return to his body to feel the pain once again, and wished more than anything that all his suffering would come to an end. He clenched his fists, consciously willing them to stop trembling. If he could still at least control one part of his body, the Father hadn't won completely. He failed miserably. Dejectedly, he realized that the Father had taken everything from him, and in the end even his own body had betrayed him. He was every bit as weak and pathetic as they'd said.

Somewhere through the haze of his dismal thoughts and pain, Dean heard the Father's voice as he sauntered into the cellar and over to where Dean was suspended. The Father glanced up at Dean for a moment, their eyes locking briefly before Dean lowered his head.

"Who is your Father?" he asked Dean, eyes narrowing slightly as a grin slowly spread across his face.

Swallowing hard, Dean closed his eyes, and muttered, "You are."

"And what is your name?" He licked his thin pale lips in anticipation of Dean's response.

A thick lump formed in Dean's throat, making it hard to breathe much less respond, but he forced out the word, "Child."

The Father quirked a sardonic brow. "Tell me, Child, who's word is law?"

"Y-yours." Dean lowered his head in utter and complete humiliation as he tried desperately to block out the sound of the jeering laughter coming from the Father's men.

"Say that you want to be my child . . . that you want nothing more than to be a member of my family," the Father ordered. He gripped a hold of Dean's chin, and forced Dean to look him in the eyes.

Dean closed his mind off to the images of his real father and Sam that flashed through his head. They hadn't come for him. They had never cared. His lips quivered as he finally uttered, "W-wanna be your child," he hesitated for a moment, having trouble forming the words the man demanded to hear from him. Swallowing down his last bit of pride, he finally continued, "More than anything I — I wanna be part of your family."

"Cut him down," the Father commanded of his men, his gloating smirk a testament to the fact that he was more than satisfied with Dean's responses. "It's time to brand him."

Larry stepped forward with a sharpened blade in hand, and turned toward the Father. For several moments he silently stood waiting as if he didn't know how to cut the ropes and needed the older man to guide him. "The ropes?" he finally questioned, and then looked to the hooks deeply embedded into Dean's chest before returning his attention to the Father. "Or the skin?"

"The skin," the Father replied as if the answer should be obvious.

"Thought so." Without anymore warning than that, he swung around and slashed the knife through Dean's flesh right below the metal hook, releasing it from Dean's skin.

"Guhh . . . you sonuvabitch," Dean snared through tightly clenched teeth, "g-gonna freakin' kill you."

A snide grin slipped across Larry's face as he made to cut out the other hook. Instinctively, Dean balled his fists and swung at the man, catching him the lower jaw. The bald-headed man stumbled backwards a few steps before catching himself, and then lunged at Dean with knife poised to plunge it into Dean's heart. The Father caught hold of his arm at the last moment, and swung the man around to face him.

"No, wait," he said in a low menacing manner as he nudged his head in Dean's direction. "Give me the knife." Almost reluctantly, Larry complied and took a subservient backward step as the Father moved to stand directly in front of Dean. The Father stared at Dean for the longest time before his gaze briefly flitted to the knife he held in his hand and then back again. "Lower your fists," he commanded with a look that dared Dean to defy him.

Dean hesitated, every ingrained instinct shouting at him not to obey. The Father gave a curt nod of his head, and lowered the knife to his side.

"Still the defiant child, I see." The Father reached out, and trailed his fingers over the blood seeping down Dean's chest. "I can imagine that probably hurt," he said as he pressed his hand flat against Dean's chest and pushed him away. "But probably not as much as you skin ripping apart will."

Only tethered by the one hook, Dean swung precariously above the ground. Excruciating pain wracked his body as his skin slowly began to jaggedly tear away from the his chest. A pained cry burst from his lips as the Father pushed him again, and he felt his skin rip a little more, blood oozing from beneath the hook to drip down his chest.

"Beg me to cut you down," the Father said in a cruel and calculating manner. "Say, please Father, cut me down. I am nothing but a stupid insolent child and beg for your forgiveness."

"N-no." Dean's breath caught in his throat as his skin ripped a little more, stark searing pain coursing through his already bruised and battered body.

"Say it or when your skin does finally tear through, I will drag you across the room, chain you up again, and whip you until every bit of defiance is gone from you." The Father moved slightly to the side so Dean had a clear view of the chains he'd been shackled to a few days before. The older man glanced back in that direction, and then returned his attention to Dean, a cocksure grin settling on his features. "Be a good little boy and do as you're told . . . beg me, and I'll end the pain."

Dean held out for a few more moments, and then with quivering lips, he muttered, "Pl-please, Father, cut me down." He breathed hard against the burning pain of his skin ripping a little more. His body shook uncontrollably as he surrendered the last shreds of his self-worth and groveled, "I'm nothing but a stupid insolent child an' b-beg for your forgiveness."

"You're forgiven," the Father said as sliced the rest of the way through Dean's skin, releasing him the hook.

Without the hooks to hold him, Dean dropped to the ground and curled up in a heap. Intense hatred welled inside him for Sam and his own father for not caring enough to find him. It may not have been them who had done this to him physically, but they hadn't even tried to prevent it. They had left him alone. They had broken him beyond repair, and he hated them with every fiber of his being.

"Chain him up," the Father ordered to his men as he nudged his head toward Dean.

Dean's head shot up and he glared at the older man, tears burning in his eyes. "Did what you said . . . please don't do this to me . . . c-can't take anymore."

The Father squat beside Dean, and Dean thought for a moment he could detect a look of compassion in the man's pale blue eyes. It quickly disappeared as the Father's expression hardened, and he shook his head. "You openly defied me in front of the family, I can't allow that. What kind of Father would I be if I allowed such disobedience?"

"I-I won't . . . I s-swear it won't happen again, Father," Dean begged as he saw Larry once again step forward, although this time he carried the long leather whip in his hand. "I can be a g-good little soldier . . . c-can be a good son, Father."

"Will you ever disobey me again?" The Father lightly touched Dean's face, and Dean leaned into his hand as if he were a small child looking for comfort and forgiveness when he'd done something horribly wrong.

Dean shook his head, and lowered his gaze from the man's intense scrutiny. "No, Father . . . pl-please forgive me."

"Alright," the Father said as his hand fell away from Dean's face, and he rose to stand. "Prove it to me. Prove that you are my child solely and will do as I say."

"How, Father?" Dean asked as he glanced up at the man who towered menacingly above him. "Whatever you ask, I'll do it . . . anything."

"Grovel at my feet . . . kiss them, and tell me that you belong to me."

Without giving it a second thought, Dean lowered his head and kissed the man's feet. When he was finished, he allowed his head to drop backward so he could look up at the man standing before him. "I am your child, Father . . . I belong solely to you."


	10. Chapter 10

_so new chappy up...thanks so much for all the awesome reviews!! thanks for reading!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Ten_

The Father's men dragged Dean through the open compound area outside the main house toward a smaller outbuilding near the far corner of the property. A wooden stockade fence encircled the entire perimeter of the encampment, and Dean noticed that every twenty feet or so, men armed with high-powered rifles stood guard around it. He took note of possible exits and looked for any breaches in the sturdy structure.

In his mind, he mentally tried to tabulate exactly how many of the Father's men there really were, but as they all dressed exactly alike and all were bald, he found it all but impossible to do so. His best guess was that there had to be at least twenty to thirty of them, but the actual total could have been a lot higher.

As he covertly glanced around, he noticed that all the buildings had been fortified against attack, and that all the windows had been boarded up. Narrow slits had been left open in the middle of each of the boarded windows, and understood that they were meant for guns, and also wondered just what the Father was preparing for. To Dean it appeared if the man was making preparations for his own little war against the world, and more-than-likely had the ammunition to back his threat.

Reluctantly he was forced to admit that it would have been hard to break into or out of the compound, and could clearly understand why so many of the Father's former prisoners had finally given in and had become one of his children. None of them, however, had a father who was an ex-marine or a brother who was trained by the very best. More-than-likely their fathers' had been businessmen who only thought guns were used for killing animals for the sport of it. No, they had probably spent most of their weekends sitting in front of the televison watching football, eating snacks and getting fat. Dean could definitely understand why their fathers' and brothers' had never come for them, the same did not apply for his own.

"Making plans to try and escape," the Father asked, drawing Dean out of his thoughts.

"No, F-father," Dean shivered, a blast of frigid air whipping across his bare skin, "w-was jus' wonderin' why this place is so well f-fortified."

"Have to protect my family from those who would try to harm them . . . like I will protect you, Child."

"P-protect me?" Dean asked, liking the sound of someone taking care of for him for a change instead of him putting his life on the line for people who could care less about him.

"I am your Father, it's my job to look out for you, protect and shelter you from all those who would do you harm," he said with a winsome smile, all traces of cruelty disappearing from his pale blue eyes. "After all, that is a Father's job."

"N-never had a father who did that . . . w-was always my job." Dean lowered his head ashamed that he'd been brought up in a family who's members only cared about themselves, and was glad he no longer considered them his own.

The Father motioned for his men to stop, and they instantly complied. He cupped a hold of Dean's face. Dean looked up into his eyes, and gave a weak smile. "It's my job to care and protect you, Child. Know that you are loved by each and every one of my children. You will never be alone . . . or unloved . . . and we will never let them hurt you again. Understand?"

Dean gave a curt nod, and the men holding onto his arms released him. Flanked by men on either side of him, Dean trudge toward the building. Several times he lost his balance, falling face fist to the cold hard ground, and then was carefully helped back to his feet by the same men who had helped torture him previously. Finally after the third time he'd stumbled, Larry very cautiously hooked an arm around his waist, and helped him the rest of the way there.

Once inside the building that was covered from floor to ceiling in olive green tiles, Dean realized it was the family's bathing area. Open shower stalls lined both sides of the room, and it was blatantly obvious that privacy and personal space was something that was definitely not practiced in the family. At the moment, however, Dean could have cared less as he stared longingly at the showers.

A man who had been waiting for them in the shower area, handed Dean a shaver and gestured toward a sink with a mirror hanging over it. At first Dean believed it was for shaving his stubbled face, and without giving it much thought took it from the man.

"First shave your head, Child," the Father commanded, hesitating for a moment when Dean numbly shook his head, and then continued onward, "shave your head and then you can take a shower. If you choose to disobey me on this we can go back to the cellar . . . ." his voice trailed off, but Dean didn't need for him to finish to understand what going back to the cellar meant, and gave a curt nod.

Trudging to the sink, Dean turned on the water and lathered the bar of soap he found there. For a moment he just stood there and looked at his reflection in the mirror, not recognizing the man staring back at him. Six days growth of beard shadowed his face, and a wry laugh escaped him realizing he now had more hair on his face than on his head. Dark circles lined his eyes, and if he hadn't known better he would have said they'd come from someone slamming their fists into his face instead of the lack of sleep he knew they were really from.

"Shave your head," the Father ordered in a manner meant to brook no argument, and Dean complied.

With shaking hands, Dean lathered the his head and slowly began the demoralizing task of cutting of his own hair. Through the glass he could see the Father's grin deepening as Dean cut away any meager strains of hair that had managed to grow in one day's time.

"The beard as well," the Father commanded when Dean was finished shaving his head. "To be a family we must all look like a family."

Reluctantly, Dean did as he was asked, his fingers now trembling so badly, he nicked his face several times before he was finished. Blood trickled down his cheeks and chin from all the little cuts he'd made. Grimacing at his own reflection, he thought it odd that he'd done such a good job cutting off his own hair, but when it came to shaving his face which he'd been doing since he was at least sixteen, he'd made a total mess of it.

"Now to brand you," The Father said, and motioned for the men to grab hold of Dean once more, and they quickly did as they were told.

"B-but, I thought . . . I mean, you said . . . ." Dean's voiced trailed off as he stared longingly at the showers. "Jus' need a shower . . . please, Father."

"No. Only family can take a shower here, and you aren't a member of the family yet, Child." Having said that, the Father turned on his heel and headed out the door, with the men dragging Dean behind him.

The Father led them out toward an open courtyard in the middle of the encampment. A bell rang out from somewhere inside the compound and within a few moments men and women exited all the buildings and headed toward the huge fire pit where Dean was being held against his will. Within a few moments forty or fifty men and women stood in a circle around Dean and the Father with their heads bowed.

A woman with short raven black hair stoked the fire, heated embers rising up through the air to get lost in the gray cloudy sky above. Dean noticed a branding iron sticking out from the growing flames, and squirmed against his captors, trying to break free. The men strengthened their hold on him, hauled him off his feet, and secured him to a long table beside the fire. Dean struggled uselessly against the thick leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles, and heard the sound of laughter coming from the men who had tied him down, further adding to his humiliation.

The women gawked at his lean muscular torso, then their gaze traveled lower, and they either giggled or smiled appreciatively in response to what they saw. Although he'd never been ashamed of his own body before, having so many people see him naked was more than a little disconcerting, and he could feel heat rising to flush his face, and knew his cheeks must have been bright red with embarrassment.

"Children," the Father cleared his throat to gain everyone's attention, and then continued, "This is your newest brother. From this day forward he shall only be known as Child. All other names he might have known in the past no longer exist."

"Welcome, Child," they all spoke in unison as they clasped hands with the person next to them on either side.

The Father pulled the red-hot iron out of the fire, and brought it to Dean's eye level. "Branded by fire, you shall forevermore be one of us."

"Branded by fire, you shall forevermore be one of us," the group mimicked what the Father had just said, repeating it over and over again, their voices growing louder with each passing chorus of the words.

Dean clenched his teeth, breathing hard as the iron seared his skin. His stomach churned violently as he heard his skin sizzled from beneath the branding rod, and smelled the sickening scent of his flesh burning. A scream of pain erupted from Dean's lips as the Father held the burning iron to his flesh for much longer than it was necessary to make the mark, and then finally took it away.

Blinking hard, against the tears stinging at his eyes, Dean glanced up at the crowd and noticed a single girl moving quietly through the gathering of people. Her long raven-black hair and ghostly pale skin marked her as different amongst all the girls with short-cropped hair and fair complexion. She looked at Dean, and pressed an index finger against her bluish lips as if she didn't want him to give away the fact that she was there.

She stopped in front of the Father, and Dean saw that he shivered involuntarily. She trailed her delicate fingers down the side of the older man's face. The Father took a backward step, and glanced around as if trying to figure out who had just touched him. In a blink, she was standing beside Dean, eyes exquisitely blue staring lovingly into his own, and he instantly knew who she was.

"Shannon," he said in a faint whisper, not quite believing what he was seeing.

She opened her mouth to speak and blood spilled from her lips to cover her soft white gown. More blood leaked from knife wounds in her chest and stomach to quickly pool around her feet.

"D-Dean . . . hhh . . .hhelp . . . me . . . ." Shannon begged. In a flash she disappeared, only to reappear in front of the Father again. "D-Dean," she uttered breathlessly, "F-father."

"He was your father?" Dean said as he watched her drag her nails down the Father's face, leaving thin raised trails behind. The Father flinched and brought his hand up to cover his face.

"Pl-please . . . D-Dean. . . ."

"Shannon, I'm so sorry . . . I tried . . . I really tried . . . it was too late. There was nothin' I could do," Dean uttered, forgetting for a moment that the Father was there.

"What did you say, Child?" The Father's menacing glare turned even more deadly as Dean mentioned Shannon's name.

"Pl-please . . . D-Dean. . . . help me . . . ." Shannon begged again. The Father stalked right through her ghostly body. "D-Dea . . .." she shivered violently then disappeared in a wisp of smoke.

"Shannon . . . Shannon!" Dean screamed, trying to reach out to her, but she was gone.

"You will never speak that name again." The Father slammed his fist into Dean's face. "Do you hear me?"

Dean narrowed his eyes on the Father, and spitting out the blood in his mouth, he snarled, "Y-you killed your own daughter. You freakin' evil sonuvabitch. She left you and you found her an' killed her."

The Father glared at Dean for a few moments, nostrils flaring as he breathed hard in scarcely control anger. "Take him back to the cellar and lock him up." He turned on his heel to leave, but then swung around abruptly, and an ominous grin settled across his features. "This time you will really learn what it means to disobey me. There will be no relenting . . . no reprieve . . . just pain. Lots and lots of pain. An' when I'm done with you, I can guarantee you that you will never speak her name or disobey me ever again."


	11. Chapter 11

_okay so this chappy is a little grotesque, maybe not meant for the squimish...so fair warning!! thanks so much for reading and all the awesome reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Eleven_

Sam shifted restlessly, trying to get into a more comfortable position, but found it all but impossible to do so. The restraints around his wrists precluded much movement and no matter how he tried to maneuver his long legs, it always ended up causing him increased pain to his battered body. A chilled breeze wafted over his aching muscles, and he shivered violently, teeth chattering loudly in the quiet of the cellar.

The best he could figure, he'd been trapped in the cell for at least a day, and yet no one had come back to check on him since the Father had left him there. Guilt overwhelmed Sam as he sat alone, mulling over all the Father had said to him, wondering if some of it hadn't been true. He had always taken it for granted that Dean would always be there for him, and hadn't always treated him as good as he should have. His brother had done everything for him, put his life on the line for Sam more times than Sam could even begin to count, and he had never fully appreciated the sacrifices Dean had made for him.

Wincing at the cramping pain in his stomach, he once again tried to move into a more comfortable position, and cried out as a stabbing pain shot through his side. His breath caught in his throat, eyes squeezing shut as the searing pain rapidly spread through his entire body. Slowly the intense ache subsided as he took short panted breaths.

When he'd finally reopened his eyes, he peered up at the Father who had somehow managed to enter the room undetected by Sam. Six of the Father's men strode into the cellar shortly after his arrival, and came to stand behind the imposing figure that stood before Sam. Once again, all the men wore black from head to toe, and Sam was hard pressed to find any differences in their appearances that would make them stand out as individuals.

"Branded your brother today, he is now truly one of the family," the Father said as he unlocked the cell and stepped inside. "You should have seen him shave off his own hair, Boy, now that was truly something to behold."

"Dean would never do that," Sam argued with a shake of his head.

"He does whatever I tell him to do." The Father chuckled, although the mirth of it didn't reach the depths of his pale blue eyes.

"You should have seen him grovel on the ground and kiss the Father's feet," said a shorter man with dark brown eyes. "Truly freakin' pathetic."

"You're lyin'," Sam spat, glaring at the younger man. "My brother would never freakin' do that."

"But he's not your brother anymore, Boy," the Father said cruelly, "he's my child. And like all my other children, he does whatever he is told to do."

"Don't believe you."

"Is it really so hard to believe your brother would fall in line?" the Father questioned as he knelt beside Sam. "Bet he's always done what he's been told to do . . . doesn't really remind me of the kind of man who can think for himself. In fact, that probably worked to your benefit as it did to mine . . . bet you just loved manipulating him, knowing how easy it was to get him to do what you wanted."

"Don't manipulate my brother," Sam vehemently denied, "not gonna let you get inside my head."

"Too late, Boy, I'm already there," the Father laughed, and his men soon joined in, their jeering laughter mocking Sam. "You think you're so damn smart . . . the clever little Boy who found me, but I've been at this game a lot longer than you, an' I know just what makes a man tick. I know how to push all the right buttons to make a man crumble." The Father grabbed hold of a clump of Sam's hair, and yanked his head backward forcing Sam to look him in the eyes. "An' for you . . . that button is guilt. Guilt is that little seething thing that works its way around inside your head, an' eats away at your mind."

"Have nothin' to feel guilty about."

"Huh, really." The Father gave a slight nod, and then gestured to his men to come inside the cell. "Think our first lesson should be about honesty." He glanced down at Sam's hands, and smiled. "I like to think of it as a ten step program, although most people usually only need to go through the first five to really open up and tell me everything I want to know."

One of the men unlocked the shackles, and the others roughly grabbed hold of Sam and hauled him to his feet. Trashing violently, he almost escaped, but then someone slammed their fist into Sam stomach, and he doubled over, gasping for breath. Acrid bile rose in his throat, and before he could manage to stop it, he threw up all over the cold cement floor. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he continued to wretch, his stomach heaving violently as all the contents inside of it spilled to the floor.

Without giving him a chance to catch his breath, the Father's men dragged Sam over to a long table. He squirmed around uselessly as they cuffed his wrists to the table, and then kicked him squarely in the back of the knees, sending him crashing to the ground. Two men moved forward, grabbed a hold of his hands and forced him to spread out his fingers, then wove them through thick metal loops that were bolted to the table.

The Father withdrew a sharpened blade from the pocket of his crimson robe, and quirked a brow at Sam. "Which finger should I start with, Boy?" he asked as he bobbed the knife from one finger to the next. "No opinion on the matter," he further goaded as Sam glared at him, "very well, I'll start with the thumb." That said, he rammed the blade under Sam's fingernail, blood spilling from his injured finger, and then yanked upward, tearing the nail away from Sam's skin.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam clenched his teeth in an effort not to scream out. His hands trembled uncontrollably as he tried in vain to remove his fingers from the metal loops. The two men who had cuffed him to the table, gripped a hold of him and braced themselves against Sam's back as he trashed around trying to get away before the father proceeded with the next finger.

"Tell me that you feel guilty about manipulating your brother, Boy," the Father demanded.

"D-don't manipulate m-my brother," Sam hissed through gritted teeth, his voice trembling.

"That's okay, not everyone gets the lesson the first time around, but we have nine more fingers to go." Without any further warning than that, he drove the tip of the blade under Sam's index fingernail with such force Sam could feel the blade touch his knuckle. Again the madman yanked the blade forward, ripping another nail off along with all the skin before his first knuckle.

"Guhh . . . you freakin' sonuvabitch," Sam snarled, breathing hard against the pain.

"Two down, eight to go. Feel like sharing something you feel guilty about or should we start on the middle finger?" the Father chuckled, and one by one his men joined in, their laughter filling the expanse of the room.

"N-no."

"You're sure? As this will be the last time I'll ask until I start on the other hand."

Sam stared at his bleeding fingers for several moments, working up the courage to deny the man what he wanted to hear. "Y-yes."

With that, the Father wedged the blade under Sam's index fingernail and ripped it away. An involuntary scream burst from Sam's lips as more skin was removed from his fingers. Blood dripped from his fingers to cover the table as the madman proceeded with the final two fingers on his left hand. With each nail ripped away, Sam's cries grew increasing louder, until they overshadowed the men's jeering laughter.

"Five more fingers to go, Boy," the Father taunted as he lightly placed the tip of the blade under the nail of Sam's right index finger. "Tell me something you feel guilty about an' I'll stop now. If you don't, I'll keep going until there are only two fingers left."

With lips quivering, Sam shook his head, and glared at the man, "N-nothin' to tell."

Tears stung at Sam's eyes, and slipped down his cheeks as the Father ripped three more of his nails off. Again the crazed man gently placed the tip of the blade under Sam's fingernail, and then looked to Sam with a gloating smile on his face.

"Only two left to go, Boy," he said in a deceivingly soft-spoken manner. "You tell me what I want to know now or when I am done with this I swear I will break everyone of your fingers one by one."

Swallowing hard, Sam peered down at his bloodied trembling fingers, and then back up at the Father. "L-left my br-brother to go to college when I-I knew how much it w-would kill him inside . . . Needed m-my own life, an' shut him out."

"See, I knew you were a selfish bastard when I first laid eyes on you," the Father said with a snide grin as he tore through Sam's skin again, ripping off another nail. With a look of pure unadulterated pleasure he drove the blade under Sam's thumbnail and tore that one off as well. When he was finished, he wiped the blood off the blade on Sam's arm, slicing deeply into his skin with the edge of the blade as he did so. "It's going to be a lot of fun learning all your dark little secrets," he said as he turned on his heel and head for the door, calling back over his shoulder, "break all his fingers, and then put him back in his cell."


	12. Chapter 12

_hey all, new chappy!! thanks so much for reading and for all the really awesome reviews!! hope everyone enjoys the chappy!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Twelve_

Dean glanced at the symbol on the wall just outside his cell, and now clearly recalled where he'd seen it before. He couldn't believe that he'd forgotten it or the promise that he had made to Shannon the night she had died.

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"_When will you be back, Dean?" Shannon asked as she sat up in bed, and rested her head against the backboard. She lightly traced her fingers over the strange tattoo on her right upper arm, and then looked fearfully to Dean. He'd asked her before about the mark, but she refused to answer, saying some things about her past she could just never share with him, and as he had secrets of his own he understood and let the matter drop._

_She blushed sweetly when Dean smiled at her, and he was struck by how beautifully innocent she appeared. Long raven black hair cascaded riotously over her bare shoulders and_ _came to rest just above her soft, firm breasts._ _In her wide, crystalline blue eyes, Dean could clearly see that she trusted him to protect her from whatever she was afraid of, and briefly wondered why she would be so terrified of her own father._

"_Should only be gone a couple of hours at the most." Dean zipped up his blue jeans, then sat beside her on the queen-sized bed. Drawing her into his protective embrace, he felt her tremble in response. "I promise I won't be gone long. You'll be safe here," he tried to reassure her, but could tell by the look in her beautiful blue eye_s _that she was terrified. "I swear your father's not gonna find you here," he said as he glanced around the small one room hunting cabin that belonged to Pastor Jim._

"_You don't know him, Dean. He'll find me and then you'll never see me again."_

"_This cabin is well out of sight of the road, and I made sure no one followed us here." He pulled his knife out from underneath his pillow and handed it to her. "I'm sure you won't need this, but just incase, you do remember how I taught you to use it?"_

"_Yeah, I think so," she said, trying to smile bravely. The smile slipped from her face as she bit pensively at her lower lip and glanced in the direction of the door. "You're sure no one followed us here?"_

"_Yeah, was real careful to watch for any cars that might've been tailing the Impala, and turned off in a different direction if I spotted any that seemed to be following us for any real length of time."_

"_You probably think I'm being stupid, and am worrying for nothing,"_ _Shannon said as she rested her head against his shoulder. _

"_All I know is that you're afraid, an' that's all I need to know." Dean lifted her chin so she was looking him in the eyes, and then lightly brushed his lips against hers. "I swear I'll protect you, Shannon."_

_Dean kissed her once more, and then stood and headed for the door. Shannon wrapped the sheet around herself, and stood to follow. With his hand on the doorknob, he turned back to look at her. "Lock the door behind me, and make sure not to let anyone in, understand?" He waited until he saw her give a quick nod, then continued, "An' if you hear or see anything at all, just give me a call, an' I promise I'll head right back here, okay?"_

"_Thanks, Dean."_ _She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned into him and kissed him again. "You can't even begin to imagine how much your help means to me."_

_With one last kiss, Dean headed out the door, calling back over his shoulder, "Make sure you lock the door."_

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_Dean had been gone longer on the hunt than he'd expected_. _His father's information on the spirit they were hunting down hadn't been entirely accurate, and it had been a lot harder to get rid of her than they'd both first thought it would be. But Shannon hadn't tried to call him even once while he was gone, and was relieved to know her fears were unfounded. _

_A shiver of fear raced down the length of his spine as he pulled into the driveway, and noticed that all the lights inside the cabin were out._ _No matter if Dean was there with her or not, she'd always kept at least one light on. _

_Parking the Impala, he flung open the door, and was out of the _car_ in a shot, sprinting toward the cabin. The front door hung slightly open on its hinges, and creaked loudly as he pushed it the rest of the way open. Dean yanked the gun out his waistband and leveled it on the room as he listened for any sounds coming from inside. _

"_Shannon," Dean called out to her, but deafening silence was the only response he heard in return. "Shannon, answer me," he tried again, his heart hammering away inside his chest, but still she did not respond._

_Dean flipped on the light switch, and he got his first good look around the disheveled room_. _Tables and chairs had been knocked over, and rested haphazardly on their sides. All the dishes that had been in the cupboards now lay in shattered pieces on the ground. The mattress hung off the bed, and spotting an arm sticking out from beneath it, Dean rushed over to where it was, and yanked it off of Shannon. _

_His heart caught in his throat as he dropped to his knees beside her, and cradled her lifeless body in his arms. Blood pooled around her naked body from all the vicious knife wounds to her throat, chest, and stomach. Dean's own blade was so deeply embedded in her chest that only the hilt of the knife could be seen._

"_Oh God, Shannon, I'm so sorry . . . so goddamned sorry." Tears slipped unchecked down his cheeks as he slowly rocked her back and forth. "Was supposed to protect you . . . promised I would protect you, an' I just left you here alone. God, this is all my fault."_

_For the longest time he just sat there holding onto her as he stared blankly around the room. And then fear gripped_ _a hold of his heart_ _as it fully dawned on him that whomever killed Shannon had used his knife to do it. As he glanced around the room again and then down at Shannon, he realized that he couldn't go to the police. His knife had been used to kill her, and they had been sleeping together, and Dean was certain that when the police put two and two together, they would determine that he'd killed her in the heat of the moment over some sort of lover's spat. _

_Dean also knew he couldn't just leave her there for someone else to find. His fingerprints were all over her and the cabin, and the sexual evidence the police would undoubtably gather would again lead them straight back to him. Even if he got rid of his knife, they would still have enough damning evidence to lock him away for life in prison._

_Slowly Dean got to his feet and grabbed a blanket off the bed to wrap Shannon's body in. Hatred welled inside his heart for the person who had done this to her, and for himself for not being able to prevent it. She'd trusted him, and that trust had killed her. In Dean's eyes, it really didn't matter if he wasn't the one who had actually killed her, her death was still his fault. He'd sworn to protect her from her father and he'd failed miserably._

_More tears spilled from his eyes as he yanked his knife from her body and wiped the blood off on the creamy white blanket, staining it crimson. Carefully he wrapped her body, softly caressing her cheek before he covered her face with the blanket. Dean lovingly gathered her into his arms and gently placed her on the mattress. _

_When Dean was finished, he gathered all her clothes, along with anything that might incriminate him in her death and placed them by the door to burn._ _Going to the cabinet beside the stove, he grabbed a bucket, mop, several rags and bleach_ _to clean up all the blood. He had to refill the bucket with water five times_ _before the blood was finally all mopped up. After Dean was done with that, he grabbed the bleach and dumped half the container on the floor, then dropped to his knees and scrubbed the blood stains on the hard wood floor, until his fingers were raw and burning with the effort_. _With that accomplished_, _Dean grabbed a clean rag, doused it with bleach and scrubbed down the entire room to erase any fingerprints Shannon or he might have left behind, and then set about with the heartbreaking task of getting rid of her body._

_Dean trudged outside and headed over to the Impala to grab the can of gasoline and salt from his trunk_ _of his car. At the far back corner of Pastor Jim's property, Dean built a fire and stoked into a roaring blaze. He went back into the cabin and gathered all the stuff he'd placed by the door and brought them back to the fire to burn._ _On his next trip inside the cabin, he carefully picked up Shannon's body and brought her outside_ _and set her on the ground near the door_. _He then went back into the cabin, hauled the mattress outside, dragged it over to the fire_ _and threw it on top of the burning pile._

_For a moment, he just stood there watching the thick black smoke rising up around the edges of the mattress, hating himself for covering up Shannon's murder, but knew he had no other choice. With all the evidence they would've been able to gather against him, no one would ever believe he didn't kill her._ _And in the end, he did what he had to do_ _to make sure he could continue to protect and watch out for Sam._

_Building a funeral pyre_, _Dean brought Shannon's body over to it, and gently placed her down on top of it. He then salted and doused her body with the rest of the gasoline in the can. Dean hesitated for a second, thinking of their last moments together and how he'd promised her that she would be safe and then left her alone to die. _

_With trembling fingers, Dean struck a match and threw it on the gas, igniting her body. He stood back as the flames grew higher_ _and the searing heat became too intense to tolerate. The vile stench of burning flesh filled the air, and Dean gagged several times before he finally gave in to his need to throw up. Dropping to his knees_, _he wretched_ _over and over again until the was nothing left inside his stomach, and still he gagged. _

_When the ache in his stomach finally subsided, he sat back on his haunches, and stared into the fire, tears flooding his eyes. He knew he could never tell anyone what he'd done, not even Sam. Everyone would believe that he had killed Shannon, and then tried to cover up the murder by disposing of her body. His heart broke and shattered into tiny pieces knowing that because of him, her murderers would get away with what they'd done to her, but he just couldn't risk the chance that the police would blame him for her death. _

"_I'm so freakin' sorry, Shannon . . . God, you have no idea how sorry I truly am." He scrubbed his hand across his haggard face, and then rubbed away the tears in his eyes. "But I swear to you that I will find whoever did this to you, an' I'll make them pay for it. That's my promise to you . . . ." Dean's voice trailed off as he slowly got to his feet and trudged away._

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

With stomach churning violently, Dean lowered his head and looked away from the symbol. He now knew why Shannon had been so afraid of her father as it was the same reason he feared the man. The Father took away everything from him as he did with his own daughter, and had left him weak and defenseless. And as he thought back to Shannon and the promise he'd made to her, he sadly realized that he'd failed her once again.


	13. Chapter 13

_so, new chappy...hope everyone enjoys...thanks so much for reading and reviewing!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Thirteen_

Dean kept his eyes downcast as the Father entered the cell, all his thoughts on Shannon and what she must have endured at the hands of her own father. His body trembled as he relived the night he'd found her dead on the floor of Pastor Jim's cabin, and how he'd covered up the crime to protect himself. In truth, he'd been no better than the man who now stood before him. He hadn't protected her as he'd promised, had covered up her death, had burned her body as if she'd meant nothing to him at all, and now he was deservedly paying for his crimes.

"You chose to disobey me, Child," came the Father's deceptively calm voice, interrupting Dean's troubled thoughts. "You understand that I cannot allow for any sort of disobedience or the family would suffer for it."

Dean gave a curt nod, still not raising his gaze to meet that of the Father's. From the Father's earlier warning, he knew he was about to endure even more torture, and his gut clenched painfully. Although a small part of himself didn't believe it was deserved, a larger more desperate part thought any punishment he received was well-warranted. And truthfully, he would almost welcome the physical pain, to ease some of the overwhelming guilt he was feeling.

"Answer me, Child," the Father commanded as he knelt beside Dean.

"I-I understand, Father," Dean managed to choke out.

With a curt nod, the Father quirked a brow as he gestured to his men to unlock Dean. "You are weak, Child. I thought I had taught you better than to disobey me. My mistake." He hesitated for a moment as he glanced toward a long wooden table with sturdy metal cuffs attached to it, and then looked back at Dean. "In the future you will always remember it."

The Father's men unlocked the shackles and hauled Dean to his feet. Dean twisted and jerked, struggling against his captors, but all too quickly his strength and will to fight gave out, and he slumped weakly into their arms. A pain-filled hiss escaped Dean as the men hefted him into the air and dropped him onto the table. The moment his torn and bruised flesh came in contacted with the coarse wood, he jerked upward, a cry of pain erupting from his lips. Two men roughly pushed him back down as another two clamped the cuffs around his wrists and ankles. Tears welled in his eyes as he vainly thrashed around and yanked on the shackles, all-the-while listening to the jeering sounds of the mens' malicious laughter.

"It gives me no pleasure to have to punish you, Child," the Father said, feigning a look of sadness as he came to stand beside Dean. "But willful children often need to be reminded of their place in the family. You are nothing but a weak and insolent child. Do you understand this?"

A flash of brilliant blue off to his side, caught Dean's attention and he turned his head, cringing as he noticed one of the Father's men had just lit an acetylene torch. Smirking at Dean, the man grabbed for the knife holstered at his side, and held it in the flames until it gleamed reddish-orange. Unmitigated fear coursed through Dean, his body shaking uncontrollably as he watched the bald-headed man with hateful brown eyes remove the blade from the torch and hand it to the Father. Dean turned to the Father, eyes rounding and pleading for forgiveness.

"Please, Father . . . please . . . I'm beggin' you . . . please, d-don't do this." Dean squirmed against the shackles, the pain in his back along with everything else forgotten as he stared at the fiery blade. "Pl-please . . . I'm sorry . . . I'll never disobey you again."

The Father lovingly placed his free hand against the side of Dean's face, and Dean leaned into it searching for comfort and forgiveness. But the cold callous look in the Father's pale blue eyes clearly said Dean would find none until he was properly punished for disobeying.

"It pains me greatly to have to punish you, Child." The Father's hand trailed downward over Dean's chest and came to rest just above Dean's own hand. "But to spare the rod is to spoil the child, you must understand this." His hand gripped firmly around Dean's and he squeezed it reassuringly. "Remember, I do this out of love for you, Child. You know that, right?"

Swallowing hard, Dean looked from the red-hot blade to the Father and back again, then squinched his eyes tightly shut. With a weak nod, he muttered, "I understand, Father."

"Very good, you are learning."

A scream burst from Dean's lips as the searing knife sliced into his skin, the sounds of his cries echoing in the expanse of the room to join with the sounds of mocking laughter. Tears slipped down Dean's cheeks as again and again the Father cut into his skin. Dean squeezed the man's hand tightly, hoping to draw on the older man's strength to survive the excruciating pain. The putrid scent of his burnt flesh filled the stale air, gagging Dean. Acrid bile burned at the back of his throat, and he barely managed to turn his head to the side before he threw up the meager contents in his stomach. Heaving violently, Dean continued to gag long after there was nothing left for him to throw up.

With a smile, the Father lowered the knife and took a backward step to appraise his handiwork. "There, now you will never forget just what you are, Child, and neither will anyone else."

Amidst jeering laughter, Dean glanced down at his chest and read the word, WEAK, etched into his red swollen skin. Thin trails of blood slipped down his chest as tears rolled down the sides of his face. His heart shattered and crumbled to dust as he continued to stare at the hated word that would now forevermore brand him as pathetic, and silently cursed Sam and his father for allowing it to happen. Hatred for them swelled within his soul, and burned hotter than the blade that had seared his flesh. They had done this to him, they were solely to blame, and he would never forgive them.

"Will you ever disobey me again, Child?" the Father asked, breaking in on Dean's thoughts.

Dean shook his head, though he couldn't manage to look the older man in the eyes. "No, Father," he hoarsely responded, a tight knot forming in his throat.

"Then I will be merciful." The Father smiled at Dean, his face softening considerably. "This really was for your own good, you do realize that don't you?"

"Uh huh," Dean mumbled dejectedly, his well-placed walls crumpling to ash, leaving his broken heart exposed to all those who cared to look into his sad, lifeless eyes. "Jus' wanna belong . . . jus' want a family to care about me."

"That's what we're here for, Child." The Father gestured around at the men standing beside him, and they all fell silent. "We all love you and want nothing more than to protect and shelter you from those who would cause you pain. We would never desert you. Don't you deserve to be loved and cared about?"

Whatever little shreds of reason that screamed the Father was a manipulator and a liar, and warned not to give in to him were lost to Dean amidst the desperate need to be wanted and cared about. Too exhausted and in too much pain physically and emotionally to fight the good fight any longer, Dean's battered soul yearned for what the Father offered and found he could not deny the craving any longer.

Blocking out the fleeting image of his own father and Sam, Dean smiled wearily as he glanced at the Father, and then gave a slight nod. "I do . . . I'll make you proud of me, Father . . . can be the best damn son you ever had."

Lightly caressing Dean's cheek with the back of his hand, the Father's smile deepened. His pale blue eyes shone with such love and warmth for his newest child that Dean found himself lost to the feeling of being at home and at peace for the first time in his life.

"That's my boy, I have no doubt that you will."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Bobby stood in the open doorway of the hospital room, mouth gaping as he stared at the empty bed Sam had been in only a few hours before, and mentally kicked himself for leaving the younger hunter alone. Although he couldn't have known that Sam would wake up and be foolish enough to leave in that short amount of time, it still did not quell the feelings that it was somehow his fault.

Yanking his cell phone out of his jacket pocket, Bobby searched his contact list until he found Sam's number and then jabbed the button. The sound of a phone ringing broke the quiet of the hospital room, and Bobby searched out the sound until he found Sam's phone lying on the ground underneath a chair, and a tremor of fear coursed down the older hunter's spine. Bobby strode to the phone and snatched it off the ground, glanced at it for a second and then pocketed it. _Damn it, Sam, why the hell would you leave here without callin' me first? You're brother's missing an' now I don't know where the hell you are either._

From what he had seen and had heard from the doctor about the extent of Sam's injuries, Bobby knew the younger man was in no condition to leave the hospital, much less look for Dean. But Bobby also knew the two youngest Winchesters probably better than almost anyone else, and knew if Dean was in danger nothing would prevent Sam from trying to find and save him. Bobby also had a gut feeling that Sam did not leave the hospital of his own accord. Sam may have left his room on his own, but Bobby had no doubt that something or someone had been waiting for him, and now not only was Dean in danger, but Sam as well.

With that solemn thought in mind, Bobby searched his contact list on his phone again until he found John's number, and hit the button. He'd called John several times to tell him about Sam being in the hospital, and the phone had always gone directly to voice mail, and didn't really think he would have any better luck this time either, but he was at a loss as to what he should do.

After several rings, John finally answered. "Bobby?" came the older Winchester's stern voice. "What's up with my boys? Been out huntin' an' my phone's been out of range. Just got back an' was bombarded with messages from Sam, but haven't been able to get a hold of him."

Bobby was silent for a moment as he absorbed all his friend had to say, an inkling of doubt in his mind that John hadn't responded to his son's calls for help until now because he was out hunting. He knew that John believed it was safer for his sons if they were separated while he was hunting the Yellow-Eyed Demon, and couldn't help but believe that was the true reason he hadn't called to find out what was going on. John also believed that he'd raised his sons to be able to take care of themselves no matter what kind of creature entered their path, but Bobby suspected that whatever had a hold of the two youngest Winchesters was not a creature but human, and John's training really hadn't covered what to do in that situation.

"Yer boys are missin'," Bobby stated simply, but the tone of his voice left little in disguise that he believed it was partly John's fault that Sam was gone now too. "Someone beat the hell outta Sam, an' pretty much left him for dead, an' now he's gone . . . left him for while to get some rest, an' when I got back to the hospital he'd just disappeared."

"Why the hell did you leave him?" John boomed into the phone, and Bobby could just imagine the look of scarcely controlled rage on his friend's face.

"Why the hell didn't you come when he called you?" Bobby quickly defended. "An' don't give me the same bullshit story about yer phone bein' outta range, cause I ain't stupid."

John was silent for a moment, and from that, Bobby knew his earlier assumption was right on target. "It's not safe for me an' the boys to be together," John finally conceded with a weary sigh. "Gotta get this damn demon or my boys will never be safe."

"So, Sam called ya, beggin' for ya to help him find Dean, an' you stayed away to keep them safe?" Bobby knew his voice was dripping with sarcasm, but didn't care. John needed to realize at some point that his sons needed him, and he wasn't doing them any good by staying away. "Course it won't matter much if ya kill the damn demon when ya have nothin' left to come back to when it is all said an' done, now will it?"

"Know I was wrong, Bobby, don't need to rub my face in it," John gruffly replied. "So you think it's a demon?" he went on to say, his mind now solely on rescuing his sons.

Bobby thought about the question for a moment, and about all Sam's injuries and Dean being abducted, and shook his head. He was pretty sure if it had been a demon, it would have killed Sam. "No, pretty damn sure that whoever beat the hell out of Sam and took Dean was human. An' I'm guessin' probably more than one from the looks of things."

"Alright, I'm on my way." John heaved another bony-weary sigh, and then fell silent for another moment, before finally continuing. "Gonna call in some favors, and see who I can round up to help find them. You scour every damn bar, diner, and motel until you find out where Dean was last before he disappeared so we have a place to start, got me?"

"Yeah, not a problem."

Several more moments went by without John saying anything, and Bobby heard the distinct sound of John's truck roaring to life in the background. When John finally spoke again, Bobby could hear the sound of fierce determination and heartache in his voice. "Someone chose to wage war on my boys, and their gonna wish to God they hadn't."


	14. Chapter 14

_new chappy, hope everyone is still enjoying!! thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews so far!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Fourteen_

Tears stung at Sam's eyes as he tried to ball his broken fingers into a fist, and cringed when his battered and bloodied fingertips scarcely touched the palms of his hands. He grimaced, recalling the grotesque sound of his bones cracking amidst the jeering laughter of the Father's men.

When his captors had thrown him in the cell, they hadn't bothered to chain him back to the floor, figuring Sam was no longer a threat to them, and reluctantly Sam was forced to admit that they were right. He could barely stand much less make a fist to fend off an attacker, and knew in his heart he was totally at their mercy. _Huh, like they even know what the word means._

But what really sent a shiver of fear coursing down Sam's spine was the knowledge that no matter what they did to him, he couldn't give in. He had to fight against them with every ounce of strength he possessed. The moment he showed weakness, gave in even in the slightest, the Father would be finished with him. And the moment the Father was finished with Sam, he knew they would kill him.

Tendrils of guilt wrapped themselves firmly around Sam's brain as he thought of all he had done in the past to manipulate Dean into doing things his way. The Father was bound and determined to do his damnedest to make sure Sam paid for every little thing he'd ever done to Dean no matter how harmless it had been at the time. Another tremor of fear washed over Sam has he thought that it wouldn't matter to the Father that Sam had never meant to hurt his brother, the madman would torture him relentlessly just because he could, and it was as simple as that.

Sam glanced around his confines, wondering where Dean was at the moment. A frown creased his brow at the thought that his older brother might not be the same person when they finally managed to escape the Father's clutches. He knew Dean better than anyone, and although he knew his brother was strong, he also knew his weakness. Sam was his weakness. The youngest Winchester had always known that from as far back as his memory would permit him to travel. There was nothing Dean wouldn't do for him. Sam knew this only too well, and if the Father played on the thought that Sam didn't care, had left Dean to the Father's mercy, Dean would crumble, Sam was almost certain of it.

"Have you ever heard of the MKULTRA experiments?" came the Father's cold and calculating voice, and Sam visibly flinched, startled out of his troubled thoughts.

Sam's mind raced trying to figure out if he'd ever heard of what the man had just asked, but couldn't recall ever hearing of it before. Slowly he shook his head, fearing that he soon would know what it meant on a very personal level.

The Father gave a curt nod as he knelt beside Sam. "Back in the 50's, the CIA conducted research on the effects of certain drugs to brainwash individuals. Course it was all rather hush-hush, and a lot of the times people didn't even realize what was happening to them." He removed a small vial and needle from the pocket of his crimson robe, and motioned for the men waiting outside the cell to hold Sam while he administered the drug. He held up the vial of yellowish liquid to Sam's eye level, and smiled when Sam squirmed away from him. "LSD." His grin widened as he filled the syringe with the liquid and his men took a firm hold of Sam. "See, one of the things they learned about this drug was it made their_ 'recruits' _believe they could withstand any sort of torture. So tell me, Boy, how much torture do you think you can endure?"

The men holding onto Sam laughed as he tried to push further away, only to find himself smacking into the bars of the cell. Their grips tightened on Sam's bruised arms, and he let out an involuntary cry of pain. The Father leaned forward and injected the needle into the muscle of Sam's biceps, then sat back on his haunches and waited.

Within a few moments, Sam slumped back into the men's arms, his body going lax under their grasps. His eyes slowly fluttered open and closed as a splay of technicolor lights flashed before them. Suddenly he jerked forward, craning his neck as he watched the walls intently. The steady thrum of a heartbeat reverberated through the room as the concrete walls pulsed in time to Sam's own heart.

"Walls sur beatin'," he mumbled incoherently, then giggled. "Didna aven know they ha' a hurt."

He glanced up in wonder and awe at the metal bars of the cell and his jaw dropped open as the sturdy metal began to melt, looking more blood as the molten liquid slid down the poles to pool on the ground. The bloodlike substance inched its way toward Sam, slowly taking form. Eyes that gleamed with yellow fire stared at him as a bloody head took shape. Arms, that appeared liquid and solid at the same time reached out for him, and he shied away, balling up in the corner of the cell.

A blast of fiery light exploded overhead, writhing flames consuming everything in its path. Golden-orange flames licked greedily at the ceiling as thick black smoke quickly filled the room. Sam's breath caught in his throat as his head dropped back on his shoulders, and he saw Jessica crying out to him. "Shheshica," he screamed, trying to bolt to his feet, but demons grabbed a hold of him, pinning him to the ground.

"What do you see?" the Yellow-Eyed Demon asked as he moved to loom ominously over Sam. Blood dripped from his willowy fingers to splatter on Sam's face. The demon glanced at the ceiling, and then looked back to Sam. "Is there something there?"

Sam quirked a puzzled brow, confusion registering on his features. "Sh-shesh dyin' . . . pl-please stop this.

"Because of you?" the demon asked, an amused grin spreading across his craggy face. "Who did you kill?"

Sam's brow's furrowed even closer together, not understanding why the demon was pretending he didn't know Jessica was burning alive. "Shheshica . . . sh-she's dyin' . . . gotta h-helb 'er."

"So you killed her?" The Yellow-Eyed demon knelt beside Sam, and dug his sharpened claws into Sam's flesh. Blood dripped down Sam's chest, bubbling and sizzling against his burning skin, but he scarcely noticed it. "Looks like your brother isn't the only one who has secrets." The demon smirked, digging further into Sam's flesh, more blood spilling down his chest. "You destroyed your brother. You know that. You killed him. You are a manipulator and a liar, and deserve to suffer."

In a blink, Jessica was gone and Dean now took her place on the burning ceiling. Dean's skin bubbled and melted away from his bones as he silently screamed for Sam to save him, but the demons held firm, and Sam was forced to watch as his brother's body burned to ash. Sam gagged at the putrid scent of sulfur and burning flesh lingering heavily in the air.

"D-Dea . . . 's my fault . . . ." Tears stung at his eyes as he tried desperately to reach out to his brother, but it was too late, Dean was already gone. "Dreamed it . . . coulda stopped it."

"You dreamed it?" The Yellow-Eyed Demon hesitated, his clawed nail biting deeply into Sam's flesh. A bemused expression crossed his features as he stared long and hard at Sam. "Like you knew it was going to happen before it did?"

Sam nodded. Something off to the right caught his eye, and he tilted his head to the side, and began to chuckle. "There's a purble unicorn dancin' with a lepre — whad er those little green men? Duh ones with hats."

"You knew it was going to happen?" the demon said, more insistently. "You knew she was going to die?"

"They're wantin' me ta dance." Sam crinkled his nose in distaste. "Wid a frog . . . a big fugly frog . . . an' id has warts . . . do frogs have warts?" He threw his back a laughed.

The Father stood, and strode away from Sam with his men following after him. At the entrance of the cell, he turned back and smiled at the blood seeping down the younger man's chest. "Send for Morning Dawn. I have a job for her to do."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Sam?" came a vaguely familiar voice, and Sam reluctantly opened his eyes, blinking hard as he adjusted to the lights flooding the room. Dawn sat beside him, gently washing away the blood covering his chest. She rinsed the blood-soaked cloth out in a bucket of water, then squeezed out the excess water with her unbandaged hand, before returning her attention to his wounds."You've been really out of it for quite a while, an' I was starting to worry."

Sam gripped a hold of the sides of his head, wincing from both the pain in his fingers and the throbbing pressure in his temples. He swallowed hard, his throat feeling like gravel. "What happened? Feel like hell."

"Father, he . . . well, he injected you with LSD, Sam. I dunno what you said while you were under the influence, but he's . . . I've never seen him like this before." Dawn met his gaze for a moment then lowered her head, fingers trembling as they brushed against his skin. "He says you're evil . . . says you know things and deserve to be punished." She glanced back up at him, biting tentatively at her full lower lip. "He called you a child of Satan . . . an' said it was his job to see that you are sent back to Hell where you belong. That's not true is it?" she asked innocently.

Sam shook his head, wondering just what he had said to the Father while under the influence of the drug. "Dawn, gotta find my brother," he grasped a hold of her hand, wincing as his broken fingers came in contact with hers, "please help me find my brother."

"I-I can't, Sam," Dawn quickly glanced over her shoulder, and Sam noticed for the first time that two men stood partially hidden in the shadows of the room. "Father is already angry with me, and if I disobey him again . . . ." her voice trailed off as she visibly trembled. "I'm sorry, Sam. You have no idea how sorry I truly am."

Sam leaned closer to her, and lowered his voice so that only she could hear. "Dean can protect you. Find him for me, tell him I'm here."

Dawn slowly shook her head, tears welling in her deep blue eyes. "He's not your brother anymore, Sam. I saw him, he's one of the family now. He'll do whatever Father tells him to do."

"Please, Dawn," Sam begged, "jus' tell him I'm here, an' I swear to God, he'll snap outta whatever the Father has done to him. He jus' needs to know I'm here."

Again, Dawn looked over her shoulder at the two men who had edged closer to hear what the two had been saying, and then returned her attention to Sam. "I really can't. I wish I could . . . but you don't know what it's like livin' here . . . Father knows everything. He'll find out. He always does."

"He's gonna kill me if I don't get out of here," Sam squinted at her through his one good eye, silently willing her to understand that he was running out of time. "I don't wanna d-die," his voice hitched in throat, "please, don't let me die here."

"Sam, I . . . ." She peered down at his chest, and shivered before she once again held his gaze. A sudden wariness settled over her gentle features.

At a loss as to why she should suddenly be afraid if him, Sam glanced down at his chest for the first time, and his face faltered, tears brimming in his eyes as he noticed the word, EVIL, cut into his skin. "Not evil, Dawn," his voice trembled with heartbreak as he glanced back up at her. "You gotta believe me . . . I'm not." Gently he traced his trembling fingers over the swollen marks on his skin as a single tear slipped down his cheek. "God, why did he have to do this to me? Didn't do anythin' wrong . . . never did anythin' wrong."

"Sorry . . . I . . . ." Dawn faltered as she pulled a small vial out of her pocket along with a syringe.

Sam abruptly pulled back away from her, staring at the vial in her hand. He swallowed hard, not wanting to believe he was so wrong about her. "Not again . . . please, don't do this to me

again . . . I'm beggin' ya." A shiver of fear raced up Sam's spine at the idea of being drugged again, and by someone he believed he could trust no less. "Please," sheer panic filled his voice as she moved closer to him with the filled syringe in her hand. He raised his fists to try and defend himself, but knew with his badly damaged hands it would do him little good to fight against her.

"Don't have a choice, Sam." A pleading look filled her sad, soulful eyes, tears streaming down her face. "If I don't they'll punish me."

Sam peered down at Dawn's bandaged hand, remembering how the Father had held it in the flames because she'd taken a step forward to come to his defense. She had tried to help him that night and had suffered for it, and he couldn't bring himself to ask her to defy the madman again. Forcing himself to lower his arms, Sam shook violently as he allowed her to inject the drug into his arm.

"I'm so sorry, Sam," Dawn cried, more tears cascading down her cheeks. "I really am."

"S'okay. Not yer fault." Dejectedly, he slumped against the metal bars, breathing deeply as he waited for the LSD to take effect. Within a matter of minutes, heat rose to flush his face as a feeling of euphoria surged through his body. His arms and legs felt heavy and useless as he tried to move, and he stared up at Dawn in confusion. "Nodda same . . . doesn't feel the same."

"Father called it a speedball." Dawn drew Sam into her arms, and held onto him firmly, her body trembling as she tried to comfort him. "Heroin laced with cocaine."


	15. Chapter 15

_Thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews. They really do make it so worthwhile!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Fifteen_

Time seemed to lose all meaning as Sam drifted in and out of a fully conscious state. Every time he came down from his high, and began to try and gather his dwindling thoughts, Dawn would reluctantly shoot him back up again. With each progressive time he came down, he noticed an increasing wariness in Dawn, and his muddled mind tried to reason out why she should be so fearful of him now.

"D-Dawn," Sam managed to choke out, his mouth so dry it made it hard to even speak. He licked his dry, cracked lips, then swallowed repeatedly, wincing against the pain in his raw and burning throat. He grasped a hold of her hand, momentarily stopping her from injecting the drugs into his arm again. "Please . . . jus' a little time."

"Sam, I . . . ." She nodded, seeing his pleading look, and set the needle aside for a moment. "Sam," she hesitated for a second, licking her own pale pink lips as an uncertain look crossed her features. "Who's Jessica? Did you kill her?"

"Did I say tha' I did?" Sam scratched his head in confusion, then his hand fell weakly to his side, the subtle movement draining him of all his strength. He glanced at the ceiling and could clearly visualize Jessica's body suspended from it, her body burning amidst the roaring flames. "Was my fault," he mumbled.

"So Father was right," she said with a curt nod, suspicion registering in her deep blue eyes, "you are evil."

"Not like that, Dawn," Sam tried to argue, but words failed him as he knew in his heart that it was his fault that Jessica was dead.

"It's exactly like that," came the Father's cruel voice as he strode to the cell door. "Don't buy into his lies, Morning Dawn. He's a manipulator and a liar. All he cares about is himself. He is selfish . . . cruel," he quirked a sardonic brow at Sam before turning to smiled lovingly at her, "and evil, and doesn't deserve your pity."

"N-not true, Dawn," Sam turned beseeching eyes on her, praying she would see that he wasn't all the things the Father claimed him to be.

"Really?" The Father chuckled. "Cause that's not what you brother told me. Said you were a selfish bastard who only thought about yourself. Said he begged you to stay when you left to have your _own_ life. Never cared about anyone but yourself, have you?"

Sam vehemently shook his head, then gagged, his stomach churning violently at the sudden movement. "Not true," he managed to utter between gags.

"Your brother told me that you are one who always likes to be in control of everything. Manipulators usually are like that. Control is everything to them." He laughed even harder saying this as he unlocked the cell to enter it. "In fact it was his suggestion to drug you, said he thought it would be good for you to be the one not in control for a change."

"Dean would never say that."

"The Dean who was controlled by you would never say that, you mean." The Father smirked as he knelt beside Dawn and handed her the needle. She wavered momentarily before taking it from him, and he gently caressed her cheek. "However, the Dean who realizes how truly evil you are, was more than happy to see that you suffer for all that you have done. He despises you. Thinks you deserve to suffer. Wants you to suffer."

"Don't b-believe you . . . Dean wouldn't . . . he's my brother."

"Correction, was your brother." The Father nudged his head toward the syringe, and Dawn reluctantly jabbed the needle into Sam's arm, silently mouthing an apology to Sam. "He's my child now. You have no one. You will die here alone and unloved. It's no more than you deserve."

"Yer brother laughed at you when he came here an' saw ya all strung out," one of the Father's men said as he came to stand beside the cell, resting his hand on the metal bars. "You actually thought he was Dawn here," he gestured to Dawn who lowered her head as Sam turned to look at her, "when he shot you up with heroin."

"D-Dean wasn' 'ere." Sam shifted restlessly, his legs and arms twitching uncontrollably as he jerked around.

"He hates you . . . wishes you were dead," the short bald man taunted, "said he can't wait to see you die."

"Na . . . n-no' true." Sam shivered and squirmed, feeling bugs crawling beneath his skin. Digging at his arms, he tried desperately to get to the wriggling creatures that had burrowed their way under his flesh. He flinched, rubbing his head against his shoulders as the bugs crawled their way up into his hair and gnawed at his scalp.

"It is true, Sammy," came a voice that Sam instantly recognized as his brother's. "How long did you think I would go on bein' your freakin' puppet? Doin' everythin' you said . . . an' for what? So you could leave me?"

"Dea . . . . " Sam blinked rapidly, trying to clear his blurry vision, and saw the hazy image of his brother enter the cell, followed by two other men. "Godda . . .needa . . . haveta gid oudda 'ere."

"Why would I want to leave my family?" Dean asked as he gripped hold of Sam's hair and jerked his head backward so Sam was forced to look him in the eyes. "An' more to the point, why the hell would I wanna help you." His green eyes narrowed as he glared at Sam, not even the slightest hint of mercy in them for Sam. "You're a selfish bastard who only ever cared about yourself. You deserve this . . . deserve to die."

"Pl-please . . . Dea . . . ." Sam begged amidst the jeering laughter from Dean and the other men. "Gonna die in 'ere." He twitched and jerked some more, his veins turning into writhing snakes slithering through his body. The sounds of their hissing inside his body filled his ears, and he shook violently as they wrapped themselves firmly around his brain. "Ther' in my brain . . . ." Raking his fingers through his hair, Sam turned panicked, fearful eyes to his brother, "godda gid 'em oud . . . Dea . . . gid 'em oud."

Dean quirked a brow, a smirk settling on his features. "No. Suffer, you selfish sonuvabitch. It's no more than you deserve. Just look what you did to Jessica." He gestured to his right, and Sam slowly shifted to look where he'd pointed.

Sam abruptly pushed himself backward, sliding away from the sight of Jessica's burnt flesh hanging off her blackened bones. What few strains of hair she had left on her head were charred black. Her once beautiful face was now scarred and burned beyond recognition, blue eyes sunken into her head. She lightly caressed his face with her scarred bony fingers, and he flinched, recoiling from her touch.

"You did this to me, Sam," Jessica's smile twisted into a hateful scowl. "You killed me. You're evil and deserve to die." She narrowed lashless eyes on him, glaring at him in contempt and hatred. "You should be dead instead of me."

"S-sorry, Shheshica." Tears welled in Sam's eyes and slipped down his cheeks. "So damn sorry."

"Sorry's not good enough, Sammy," Dean snarled, drawing Sam's attention back to him. "Admit you're evil. Admit you're a selfish freakin' bastard who only thinks about himself. You know it's true, jus' freakin' admit it."

"Not tr-true." Sam shook his head, and felt a snake slither down from inside his brain to coil around his spine, and winced as his arms and legs went limp and useless. "'S not true."

"Huh, not gonna admit it." Dean gave a curt nod, and then motioned for the men around him to haul Sam to his feet. "S'okay, Sammy, didn't expect you would."

"D-Dean," Sam cried out as the bald-headed men roughly gripped hold of his bruised arms, and dragged him out of the cell. They pushed him against the cold cement wall then chained his wrists and ankles in sturdy metal shackles.

Looking back over his shoulder, Sam saw the blurred vision of his brother stalking toward him, carrying a chain whip in his right hand. A glimmer of hatred lit Dean's green eyes as he drew closer to Sam, a malicious smirk twisting on his features. Fearfully, Sam's gaze was once again drawn to the linked chain whip in his brother's hand, and his heart skipped a beat, then set off at a frantic gallop. The sharpened edges of the iron links caught the light from above, and even in his drug induced haze, Sam realized their sole purpose was to elicit as much pain as possible.

"Pl-please, De — " Sam's breath caught in his throat as the chain-links ripped through his flesh, burning three separate bloody trails down his bare back. Tears stung at his eyes as he trembled uncontrollably. "Pl-please, don't — " The chains cracked hard against his back again, and Sam's knees buckled, his arm muscles burning and straining against the brunt of his full weight.

"Admit it, Sammy," came Dean's cold and calculating voice, and he laughed when Sam screamed as the chains struck hard against his back once more. "Say you're a selfish evil bastard who deserves to die. Say it an' I'll stop."

The chain's clinked ominously as they sliced through the air and then sliced through Sam's back again. Another scream ripped from Sam's lips as blood dripped down his back from the riddling wounds. His vision blurred, darkness edging inward to greet him and release him from his pain, but someone threw a bucket of freezing cold water on him, and the welcoming darkness retreated.

"Why you doin' this ta me, Dean." Tears cascaded unchecked down Sam's cheeks as the whip ripped through his back again. "Don't make me . . . pl-please don't h-have me s-say it. I'm beggin' ya."

"Say it, you manipulative bastard." Dean strode over to Sam, leaned in and whispered, "It's the only way I'm gonna stop. Say it or I'm gonna keep this up until there's nothin' left of you. An' that's a promise." His sardonic laughter filled the room, and was joined by the sounds of laughter coming from Dean's new family. "Be a man for a change and take responsibility for your actions."

Sam's heart shattered to nothingness, hearing the hatred in his brother's voice. Dean didn't care how much he'd hurt him, didn't care if Sam died, wanted him to die. Swallowing back any fight he had left in him, Sam's face crumpled as he muttered, "I -I'm a . . . a s-selfish bastard," he squinched his eyes tightly shut, trying to block out the pain of hearing his brother's increasing laughter, "I — I'm evil an' deserve to die."

"Louder, Sammy," Dean taunted, to the jeering approval of his new brothers, "louder an' for God sakes try not to stutter like a freakin' baby when ya say it this time around."

The words caught in Sam's throat as tears continued to cascade down his cheeks. He swallowed hard as he turned back to look at his brother once more, hoping he would find a glimmer of the old Dean, but his brother was gone, and with him he'd taken Sam's heart and soul. "I'm an evil, selfish bastard who deserves to die."

"Hmmm . . . always thought so." Dean grinned as he raised the whip and struck Sam across the back again.

Darkness gathered around Sam, and welcomed him into it's warm and safe embrace, and for a moment he was free. And as he fell further into the blackened abyss, he wished more than anything not to have to return.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

The Father handed the chain whip to one of his men, and motioned for Dawn to come to him. Dawn slowly took a step forward, and although she schooled her features as not to show sympathy for Sam, her heart broke for the beaten man, who in her eyes had done nothing wrong. She turned to stare at the cruel man who deemed himself her Father, and her beautiful smile gave nothing away of the rage that was building inside her.

"You see, Morning Dawn, he is exactly what I said he was." He gently caressed her cheek, and she made a conscious effort not to cringe at his repulsive touch.

"You're right, Father. I'm ashamed that I doubted that evil lurks within the hearts of certain men." Her smile widened as she tried to calculate a plan to save the young man who had opened her eyes to the evil the man in front of her represented. "Never again will I doubt in my heart when I believe someone is truly evil as they stare me boldly in the face, whisper lies into my ears and smile to hide their wickedness."

"That's my girl." The Father smiled at her, his pale blue eyes shining with such love and affection for her, and inwardly Dawn cringed, hating him all the more for his cruelness. "Stitch and clean his wounds, don't want him dying before I've finished learning everything I can about his gifts."

"I will, Father." Dawn breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that she would be able to stay with Sam, instead of one of the Father's men who wouldn't care how badly they treated him.

"An' make sure you keep him drugged, understand?" The Father's stern gaze strayed briefly to Sam, watching as his men unchained and threw their captive into the cell, then returned his attention to Dawn. "He could be dangerous if we allow him to regain his strength. We have no idea what other abilities he might possess."

"I understand."

"Good girl, I knew I could count on you."

Dawn plastered on her sweetest smile as she lightly kissed the Father on the cheek. "Always, Father."


	16. Chapter 16

_sorry about the delay in posting, my grandmother passed away and i have just lost track of a lot of things since then...hope everyone is still enjoying!! thanks for all the awesome reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Sixteen_

Dawn carefully tended to Sam's injuries, washing them and cleaning out each and every wound before she began the daunting task of stitching up the cuts that were the deepest. She breathed a thankful sigh that although Sam squirmed in his sleep as she continuously drew the needle through his flesh, he never fully awoke.

As she worked, she mulled over every possible means of escape for both of them. Although they were at the smaller of the two compounds the Father owned, it was still fairly well guarded, but that didn't necessarily mean escape was impossible. But even if they did manage to break out of the compound, Dawn knew without help they would never make it very far. Sam was just too badly injured to travel any distance, and she just wasn't strong enough to help him for any real length of time. She realized she needed help, and that meant leaving Sam alone while she went to find some. Stark fear nearly paralyzed her as she considered the idea, knowing that if she left Sam alone, she might come back to find him dead.

"No," she shook her head, dispelling her growing fears and doubts, "you're gonna live, you hear me, Sam . . . you're gonna live, an' we're gonna make it out of here together."

When she'd finished stitching Sam's wounds to the best of her ability, she cleaned them again, and covered his entire back with a cloth bandage, taping it down so no dirt could get in to cause an infection. Very carefully she drew him into her arms, and gently tapped him on the face, trying to wake him.

"Come on, Sam, wake up for me," she softly coaxed as she brushed the damp tendrils of hair out of his eyes. "Let me see those beautiful hazel eyes."

Sam's eyes fluttered open briefly then closed again. An anguished cry escaped his lips as he arched forward away from her. He writhed around in pain as he softly moaned, and Dawn's heart broke for him. Noticing fresh blood on his bandages, Dawn grasped a hold of him, trying to calm him down, with little success.

"Sam, you have to stop, you're tearing your stitches."

Dawn reached for the vial of heroin in her pocket, thinking that it might help to calm him down, but then hesitated with her hand around the small bottle. She needed Sam coherent, needed him to help her figure out a way for them to escape, and knew the drug would rob him of any logical thought. Her heart twisted painfully as she remembered how Sam had been so sure Dean had been the one whipping him with the chain. He couldn't even begin to see beyond his own drug induced delusions to realize it was the Father who had beaten him so severely and not Dean.

Hatred welled inside her as she thought of the cruel madman who had played upon Sam's worst fears with deft and devastating accuracy. One look into Sam's heartbreakingly sad eyes, and Dawn knew without a shadow of a doubt that it hadn't been the whip that had torn him apart flesh and soul but the thought that Dean had abandoned him.

In truth, Sam's love and need for his brother had proven to Dawn beyond any doubt that he wasn't what the Father had claimed he was, and it broke her heart all the more that she couldn't tell him it wasn't Dean who had hurt him so badly. If the Father suspected she was helping Sam in the very least, she would suffer for it, of that she was absolutely certain. To stanch her overwhelming guilt at being a party to Sam's torture, she reasoned that once they were free, she could tell him everything, and maybe help to repair some of the damage that had been done.

"Sam, you have to listen to me," Dawn removed her hand from her pocket and gently caressed his fevered skin, silently willing him to feed off of some of her strength. He trembled violently beneath her touch, jerking spasmodically, and she knew he was going through withdrawal, and hated herself for getting him hooked on heroin. "Is there anyone at all who might be looking for you? Someone who can help me get you out of here?"

"Jus' leave me alone, Dawn," Sam mumbled dejectedly as he tried to push her hand away, but was too weak to do so. "Jus' wanna be left alone to die . . . it'll make 'im hap-py." Sam's voice hitched in his throat as he turned sad and desolate eyes toward Dawn. "Why'd he 'ave ta hurt me so bad . . . why does he hate me so damn much? Tried to save 'im . . . why couldn't he see that I tried?"

Dawn fought back the overpowering need to tell him the truth, knowing she would be of no help to him if she told him everything. "Sam," she began in a strong determined voice, willing herself to be his strength, "someone has to be looking for you, and I need you to be strong so we can get out of here alive, you hear me?"

"Jus' need . . . need a . . . ." Sam eyed her pocket longingly, his tone beseeching. "Please, Dawn . . . jus' a little . . . please."

"Tell me what I need to know first, Sam, then I'll give you a fix." Dawn's stomach heaved violently as she tried to manipulate Sam into giving her the answers she needed. She tried to reason that what she was doing was for his own good, but the unsettling feeling inside her heart would not abate. He had been hurt and manipulated enough by the Father, and now she was adding to it, and didn't think she was strong enough to endure the pain she saw so clearly etched in his dull lifeless eyes. "Just tell me, please. Someone has to be out there looking for you . . . someone has to be able to help me cause I can't do this on my own."

"D-dad doesn't care . . . never even answered my call." Tears rolled down Sam's cheeks as he trembled uncontrollably. "Pl-please, Dawn." He glanced up at her briefly, and then his gaze quickly strayed to her pocket again.

"Anyone else, Sam. Besides your father, is there anyone else who might be searching for you?"

"No one cares . . . no one ever did."

Hearing the utter sound of defeat in his tone, Dawn grasped a hold of his chin and forced him to look her squarely in the eyes. "Listen to me, Sam. I care," she hesitated, momentarily overwhelmed at how much she truly did care for him. She wasn't sure if it was love she felt for him as she'd never been allowed to experience real love before. The Father made it very clear that his children were to only love him, and no others. Even other family members were to be held at a certain distance so bonds such as love could never have a chance to form. But she did feel something for Sam, had felt that way since the first time she'd met him. There had been a spark of something she couldn't quite define in the pit of her stomach as he smiled at her, and then looked away in embarrassment. "You hear me, Sam? I care, an' if I'm the only freakin' one then that's gonna be enough, you got me? You are gonna live and get out of here for me cause I need you and care more than you can possibly imagine."

"Bobby," he said in a breathless rush as his gaze remained locked on hers.

A glimmer of light and hope filtered into his sad eyes. Uncertainty then filled his soft hazel orbs as he wrapped his hand around the back of Dawn's neck and gently drew her toward him. His lips lightly brushed against hers, and he winced, but didn't pull away. Dawn's heart hammered frantically inside her chest as the kiss deepened, and any doubt that she truly loved him quickly dwindled to nothingness.

Almost reluctantly, Sam pulled away from her, sadness once again filling his eyes as he peered up at her. "I'm sorry . . . had no right to do that."

"Please don't be sorry, Sam, my heart couldn't stand it if you were sorry. An' as I recall, I kissed you back." A hint of a smile flitted across Sam's face but all too quickly was overshadowed with sorrow and pain. "So how can I find Bobby?"

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but then squinched his eyes shut, a low moan escaping him as he writhed in pain. His breath quickened, coming in short panted gasps as he tried to draw in air. More blood leaked from beneath the bandage Dawn had placed on his back, and she silently cursed, knowing that Sam needed to be in a hospital where they could take better care of him.

"Sam," she began in a more desperate manner, fearing he would pass out cold before she had a chance to find out what she needed to know, "I need to know where I can find Bobby. You have to tell me where I can find him, understand?"

"I-if . . . if h-he's lookin' fer me . . . ch-check," if it were even possible, Sam squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, his brow furrowing as he tried to focus on answering her question, "bars . . . bars . . . an' motels an' d-diners . . . anywhere I mighta been last."

"Okay, gotcha. Now what's he look like?"

"Scr-scruffy beard . . . pl-please, Dawn," Sam glanced up at her through tear-filled eyes, then his unsteady gaze shifted once more to her pocket, and the drugs he knew were inside of it, "jus' . . . please?"

"I promise, Sam, once you tell me what he looks like, I'll give you a fix." Dawn's stomach twisted into a tighter knot, hating the idea that she would have to give Sam more heroin. Although she knew the choice was never hers to begin with, it still did nothing to quell the guilt that gnawed away at her insides. The Father said Sam was to be drugged and if she disobeyed the him now, she would never get the chance to help Sam. "Scruffy beard an' what else?"

"Brown hair an' eyes . . . b-baseball cap . . . always wears a baseball c-cap."

Sam trembled, beads of sweat dripping down his face as his body jerked uncontrollably, and Dawn knew in her heart that she couldn't hold off giving him the heroin any longer. "I'll find him, Sam," she promised as she grabbed for the vial in her pocket. "You just have to stay strong for me, okay? We're gonna get out of here together. You and me . . . an' nothin' else matters but that. Got me?"

With a slight nod, Sam faintly smiled as she injected the drug into his vein. In a matter of minutes, his body went lax, his irises narrowing to mere pin-points as the heroin took hold. Dawn carefully cradled Sam to her, running her fingers through his hair as she spoke softly to him. She knew she wouldn't be there when he came down from his high, but wanted nothing more at the moment than for him to have some peace. If that meant having a good drug induced trip she would be damn sure that was what he had. And although the thought of drugging Sam left a decidedly wicked tasted in her mouth, Dawn comforted herself in the knowledge that once they were free of the Father, she could get Sam the help he needed to break the habit. "You and me, Sam," she lightly kissed the top of his head, "we're gonna be okay. That's my promise to you . . . . So you just hang on for me."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dawn left early the next morning, thankful that her position in the family allowed her more freedom than most. She'd been an invaluable member of the family since the day she's become one of them, and the Father couldn't have been more pleased with her. Although he still kept constant tabs on her comings and goings, he knew her job was important for the security and growth of his family, and therefore never really questioned her usual disappearances. Still, she knew she couldn't travel too far in her search for Bobby because she had to meet her brothers at three o'clock, and if she was even a moment late, they would report back to the Father.

Pensively, she bit at her lower lip, trying to decide where to even begin looking for Bobby. Sam had said to check out motels, bars and diners, but there were so many of them that it would really be impossible to cover them all in such a short amount of time. And Sam's description of Bobby literally matched half the people milling around in town.

Without knowing what else to do, she pulled into the first diner on the main street in town, and got out of the car. Once inside the rundown diner, her steady gaze traveled across the patrons, taking note of those wearing baseball caps and then further narrowed down her search as she noticed only three of the five men wearing caps had scruffy beards. None of them appeared overly concerned about finding anyone as they leisurely ate their breakfast or sipped on their coffee, and her heart sank a little more knowing she more than likely wasn't going to find Bobby.

In a moment of sheer panic, Dawn shouted, "Bobby," and a frown creased her brow as several people turned around to see who she was yelling at, but just as quickly turned back. "Umm . . . sorry about that." She blushed profusely as she backed out of the doorway, realizing they must have all thought she was a nutcase.

"Okay, Dawn," she mumbled to herself as she headed back to her car, "wasn't the worst idea in the world to make a complete ass out of myself in there. An' it would make things a helluva lot easier if I could just run into a place, shout Bobby's name and if no one responds, I can move on. Oh, I'm so gonna look like a freakin' loon before this day is over."

So with that thought in mind, Dawn spent the better part of the morning and early afternoon, running in and out of bars and diners shouting Bobby's name. Unfortunately for her, there were more Bobby's in town than she could have ever possibly imagined. And the totally awkward conversations that followed, left her bone-weary and at her wits end. Although she did have to chuckle at the few drunken declarations of undying love she had received, she knew her time was quickly running out, and they hadn't helped matters in the least.

As Dawn glanced at her watch, she realized she would have put off her search until tomorrow as her brothers would be meeting her very shortly. With only minutes to spare, she reached the bar they were meeting her at, and with her heart hammering away inside her chest, she entered the building and looked around. A deep sigh of relief ushered past her lips as she noticed they hadn't arrived yet, and then she took a seat in a barstool at the counter.

The bartender gave her a nod of recognition, and then held up one finger to say that she would be right over. Within a matter of moments, the young brunette bartender, sauntered over to Dawn, and after wiping her hands on the towel tucked into her apron, she placed a glass in front of Dawn.

"Hey, Billy," the bartender smiled as she poured Dawn a glass of wine, "haven't seen you in here in a while. Bank keepin' ya busy?"

"No more so than usual, Kathy." Dawn feigned a polite smile, and turned when she heard the door behind her open. Eight of her brothers entered the building, but none of them even acknowledge her as they made their way over to the pool tables. They knew she was there, and that was all that matter. She watched them for moment as they quickly scoped out the place, looking for their next prey, and then she returned her attention back to the Kathy. Quickly downing her wine, Dawn tapped her glass and motioned at the bottle. "Can I get another?"

"Huh?" Kathy said distractedly, still gawking at Dawn's brothers. "What were you sayin'?"

"Can I get another?" Dawn snapped, her nerves frayed to the breaking point. When she noticed a frown crease Kathy's brow, she plastered a fake smile on her face and tried her best to look embarrassed. "Rough day at work, sorry."

"That's okay, had a lot of them myself." Kathy's smile returned within an instant, and she poured Dawn another glass of wine. She nudged her head in the direction of Dawn's brothers, and lowered her voice so that only Dawn could hear her, "Those guys just really freakin' give me the creeps."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Dawn shivered involuntarily, feeling her brothers' eyes boring into her back.

"Did I tell you that this guy came in here looking for his brother about two weeks ago cause he was missing, an' those guys were here that night?" Kathy leaned over the counter, resting her elbows on the wooden surface of the bar.

"Really?" Dawn tried to looked shocked as she knew that was what Kathy would be expecting. "Did he find his brother?" she asked, stomach churning uncomfortably as she already knew the answer to that question.

"Don't know, never saw either of them again," she leaned even closer as she eyed the men at the pool table again, "but if something happened to them, I would stake my life on the fact that those guys had something to do with it."

Dawn glanced back over her shoulder, and her eye's locked with one of her brother's, and the look of warning he gave her was very clear. She turned back to Kathy, and with a sweet smile, said, "Probably better to keep that kind of gossip to yourself. Never know who might be listening. And if what you said is correct, I'm sure you wouldn't want them after you."

"True enough." Kathy nodded in agreement. "Just wish they would stop coming around here."

At the sound of the door opening then closing, Kathy glanced up, and Dawn looked over her shoulder to see a scruffy, bearded man with a baseball cap enter the bar. He stood at the entrance for a moment, surveying the place. His gaze settled on the men at the pool tables briefly, a harden frown creasing his brow before he looked away. With determined strides, he made his way around the tables and chairs and headed to the bar.

Within mere inches of Dawn, he leaned against the bar, and nudged his head toward Kathy. "Gimme a beer, whatever's on tap." As Kathy turned away to pour his beer, the man yanked two pictures out of his pocket, and tossed them on the counter. "Lookin' for these boys, either of ya seen them?"

Dawn quickly snatched up the pictures before Kathy had a chance to look at them. A shiver of fear raced up her spine, and without having to look, she knew her brothers were watching her with utmost interest.

"Bobby?" she managed to squeak out, her body trembling so badly, she thought she might fall off her chair. "Put them away." She shoved the pictures back into his hand. "Pl-please, for Sam's sake, jus' put them away."

Bobby gave a curt nod, and hastily pocketed the pictures. Kathy handed him his beer, and then eyed him briefly.

"Who were ya lookin' for, darlin?" Kathy asked in her sweetest voice.

Bobby glanced at Dawn briefly, noticed the subtle shake of her head, and shook his head.

"Umm . . . jus' lookin' for a drink." Bobby scrubbed his hand across his bearded face as he looked to Dawn once more. "An' maybe someone to enjoy it with." He lowered the brim of his cap, blushing slightly as he gestured to a corner table. "How about it, little lady, wanna keep me company?"

Kathy smirked as Dawn rolled her eyes. "I'll be back in a bit, Billy. You two enjoy yourselves," she said as she headed on down the bar to help her other patrons, leaving Bobby and Dawn alone.

The moment she was gone, Bobby swivelled in his seat to stare at her. "Where are they?" he muttered in a low tone so no one else could hear.

"Turn back around in your seat, an' drink your beer," Dawn hissed, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest. "An' for God sake don't look at me again, unless you want to get me killed."

Bobby quickly complied, and hastily chugged down half the beer in his glass. With the cup still to his lips, he whispered, "Need to know where they are."

"In five minute, I'll get up and go to the bathroom." Dawn glanced over her shoulder and smiled at her brothers, then feign a look of utter helplessness over the situation. She then returned her to Bobby. "There's a window in there, you leave now an' meet me by it, okay?"

Before Bobby had a chance to answer, one of her brother's stalked over, and roughly tapped Bobby on the shoulder. "You botherin' the lady, mister? Cause me an' the boys," he bobbed his head toward the Dawn's brothers who were all brandishing pool sticks, "we don't like yer kind around here."

"Nope," Bobby shook his head, and with arms outstretched, he shrugged. "Jus' asked her if she wanted a drink." He smirked. "Course, she told me she'd kick me in the groin if I didn't leave her alone. so I was just finishin' my drink, an then I was gonna leave."

"Think you should leave now," her brother ordered, and Bobby gave a curt nod.

"Alright, wasn't lookin' for any trouble. Jus' wanted a beer and maybe a little company to share it with." Bobby snatched his wallet out of his pocket, paid for his beer, and stood to leave. "Sorry, if I bothered ya, Miss." He tipped his cap in her direction, and then hastily left the bar.

"You didn't have to do that, Markus," Dawn hissed, "I can take care of myself."

"It's my job to protect you, Dawn." Markus eyed her for a moment, before he lowered his voice and uttered, "Don't want to catch you speaking to another man again, or Father will hear about it."

"Wasn't like I was talkin' to him. He was talking to me, there's a big difference. I know the rules."

"See that you remember them," Markus ordered in a no-nonsense manner.

"If we're done here, can I please go to the bathroom?"

"Fine, but just remember I'm watching you."

"I wouldn't have it any other way." Dawn smiled sweetly as she slid off her seat and sauntered toward the bathroom.

Once inside the dingy one stall bathroom, Dawn quickly locked the door, and then double checked just to make sure it wouldn't open. When she was certain no one would enter, she rushed to the window and cranked it open. Breathing a sigh of relief when she noticed Bobby standing right outside of it, she mentally went over all the things she needed to tell him.

"Where are they," came the older man's gruff voice.

"Can't tell you right now. I don't have enough time." She glanced back over her shoulder, knowing she only had a few moments before her brothers would start wondering why she was taking so long. She swung back to look at Bobby through the partially opened window. "Is anyone else with you who can meet me tomorrow? I can't risk seeing you again."

"The boys' Father."

"Okay, have him come to the bank across the street at ten o'clock sharp. Not a minute later, understand?"

"Gotcha."

"Have him ask to speak with Billy Carter about a loan she turned down." At the sound of someone knocking on the door, Dawn swung around abruptly, fear tightly clenching around her heart. She took several slow calming breaths before finally responding. "Be out in a minute." She hastily pivoted around to face the window again. Her fingers trembled as she gripped a hold of the ledge, trying to gather her courage. "Sam's in really bad shape, an' I need your help to get him out of the compound. Please, just make sure his father is there tomorrow cause Sam's running out of time . . . not sure how much more he can take."

"An' Dean," Bobby solemnly asked, scrubbing his hand over his face, and then tipped his hat, lowering it over his brow.

"Not really sure." She bit at her lower lip as she tried to recall the last time she'd seen Dean. It had been the day that they had branded him. Although he had been pretty badly worked over, he still was strong enough to stand up to the Father. "Only saw him once, but he was in better shape than Sam." She hesitated, seeing the rage building in the older man's eyes. "Really, I have to go . . . just have him meet me tomorrow, please. Tell him, Sam didn't think he would come. Thinks he doesn't care."

Bobby gave a curt nod. "He'll be there."


	17. Chapter 17

_Thanks to everyone who is reading and for all the awesome reviews!! you guys are all awesome!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Seventeen_

"How do you know we can trust her?" John asked Bobby for what must have been the twentieth time in so many minutes as he stalked back and forth in the small expanse of the motel room they were staying at. He swung to glare at Bobby, anger and frustration welling inside of him, making it hard to breathe let alone think. "She could be lying."

"Seemed like she was tellin' the truth." Bobby removed his baseball cap, brushed his fingers through his hair, then replaced his cap as he took a seat on the closer of the two beds. "Looked real afraid of those boys playin' pool. An' I'm guessin' they have Sam an' Dean, an' without her help I'm thinkin' we're not gonna find 'em in time."

Frustration quickly turned to seething rage, and on the next pass of the room, John slammed his fist into the drywall, busting out a large hole in it. Flecks of green paint floated silently to the ground to blend into the multicolored shag rug as he abruptly turned back to face Bobby."So, she didn't even give you a hint where my boys are?"

"Think we'd still be sittin' here discussin' it if she had?" Bobby muttered in exasperation. "Said to meet her tomorrow at ten a.m. sharp, not a minute later, an' she'd tell ya everything." He eyed John for a moment, then his gaze strayed to settle on the hole in the wall. Just by the way Bobby couldn't hold eye contact with him and the saddened expression on his face, John knew his longtime friend was deliberately keeping something from him, and understood that whatever it was, it must have been pretty bad.

"Alright, out with it." John crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes on Bobby. "I've known you for too long not to know when you're tryin' your damnedest to keep somethin' from me."

Bobby was silent for a moment as he scrubbed his hand through his scruffy beard, and then heaved a weary sigh. "She said Sam didn't think you'd come. He didn't think you cared, an' he's in real bad shape. An' I gathered from the way she said it . . . well, from the tone in her voice, I think he might be dyin'." He glanced up at John, and then hastily lowered his head once more, unshed tears brimming in his eyes. "Coulda misunderstood her though," he quickly added for John's benefit.

John's breath caught in his throat, his gut clenching painfully at the thought that Sam might die, and he hadn't even bothered to answer his youngest son's desperate phone calls. Rubbing the moisture from his eyes, John's gaze strayed to his duffle full of weapons, and then to the salt trails that lined both the front door and window, and his heart sank a little further.

He'd done everything in his power to teach his boys how to protect themselves from supernatural threats, but he's failed miserably on teaching them that ordinary people could pose an even more dangerous threat. And he should have known better. Should have realized that the evil in the hearts of men had been the direct cause of most vengeful spirits. Happy, joyous people didn't turn into vengeful spirits . . . no, they moved on to hopefully a better place. No, it was the sick and twisted that stayed bound to earth, reeking havoc on the unsuspecting. Murderers and psychopaths and every social deviant in between, walked the earth in either human form or ghostly presence, and John had dwelt far too long on the later, and was now being rewarded for his vigilance. Sadly he realized that if his boys died, the blame would be solely on his shoulders. And the burden, weighing down on him like the weight of the world, was more than he could bear.

"Sam's gonna be okay. Gon-na get my boys back, and they're both gonna be fine," John stated with a firm, determined set of his jaw. Although the slight hitch in his voice belied his fears, and spoke volumes to anyone who really knew him, and unfortunately for him, Bobby knew him pretty damn well.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

John stood in front of the mirror, fumbling with his tie, his fingers trembling so badly, he couldn't manage to make a proper knot. His stomach curdled at the idea of wearing the dark blue suit that he'd worn at Mary's funeral for his meeting with Billy, but it was the only one he owned. For a man who definitely believed in dire omens, the thought of wearing this particular suit screamed of terrible things to come, and his throat constricted painfully as tears filled his eyes.

"It's quarter of ten, John," Bobby's gruff voice broke John out of his thought, and reminded him that he had to remain strong for his boys. "You better get goin'. An' when you get back, we'll gather the others, an' start goin' over a plan."

John gave a curt nod, finished tying his tie to the best of his ability, and then headed for the door. At the entrance, he swung back to stare at Bobby, hoping to see some assurance in his friend's eyes, but saw the same look of despair that he knew mirrored his own. "They're gonna be okay," he said with a small, weak smile.

"Yer damn right, they are," Bobby said, and feigned a smile, although it quick faded to a thoughtful frown. "They're Winchesters. An' there ain't nobody who can keep a Winchester down."

"Thanks, Bobby." John walked out the door and headed for his truck, all-the-while praying that his friend was right.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Inside the entrance of the bank, John stood for a moment, surveying the place for possible threats and possible means of escape should a problem arise. There were several people milling around, some filling out bank drafts, others speaking to tellers, or waiting to speak with bank officials, and those who were just there waiting for their friends or family to finish their business transactions. His gut feeling clearly told him that none of these people posed any sort of real threat to him, so he strode confidently to the half-moon shaped desk in the middle of the lobby, and cleared his throat to gather the receptionist's attention.

The pretty, petite middle-aged woman glanced up at him and smiled. "How can I help you, sir?" she asked, her dark brown-eyed gaze travel over the length of him appreciatively.

"I'd like to speak to Billy Carter about a loan she turned down," John replied in very businesslike manner.

"Just one second, sir, I'll check to see if she's busy at the moment." The receptionist picked up the phone, and dialed Billy's extension, and waited a few moments before Billy answered. "Hi, Billy, there's a man here who would like to speak to you about a loan you turned down . . .yes . . . Uh huh, sure, I'll send him right in." She hung up the phone, and then returned her attention to John. She gestured to a door off to the right, and smiled. "Billy said she wasn't busy at the moment, and that you could go right in."

"Thanks."

Without waiting for any further invitation than that, John strode over to Billy's office, gave a quick rap on the door, and not bothering to wait for a response he entered. The young woman, who couldn't have been more than twenty three or four, stood to greet him. The first thing he noticed was that although she appeared outwardly confident, dressed in a classy business suit, soft black hair framing her delicate face in a stylish manner, she was trembling. She extended her right hand, and his vision strayed to the bandage that covered the left one, and then returned his attention to her. When he failed to shake her hand, she let it drop back to her side, and took her seat once more, motioning for him to sit down.

"Where are my boys," he said in a hard, no nonsense manner, not about to mince words with her. His eyes narrowed on her, a deep scowl furrowing his brow, and saw her shift uncomfortably in her seat.

"Mr.," she began only to hesitated, waiting for him to fill in the blank.

"John."

"John," she said, with a small, awkward smile. "Sam really needs you. He's in bad shape, an' I'm not sure how much longer . . . well, what I'm tryin' to say is that I'm doing my best to keep him from . . . I'm sorry," she muttered, lowering her head.

John swallowed hard, hearing the sincere desperation in her voice. She was trying to help his boys, and John was ashamed that he was treating her like the enemy. "An' Dean."

"Not real sure. The Father keeps them at separate compounds, an' I've been with Sam. He really needs you," she stated again, making it very clear to John how dire the situation truly was.

"H-how bad is he?"

"Did my best to stitch up the wounds in his back, but I'm not a doctor, and he really needs a doctor." Tears gathered in her sparkling blue eyes, and then fell unabashedly down her cheeks. She wiped them aside, and tried her best to smile bravely at John. "Don't want him to die . . . but I can't save him by myself."

"Where are they?" John asked again, more insistently.

"You know where Conkle's Hollow is?"

"Heard of it."

"It's off of Big Pine Road," she quickly supplied. "Well, about twenty miles east of there, you come a dirt road, no name marker on it." She paused, taking a deep breath as she took several pieces of paper out of her desk. "The road is overgrown with weeds, so it's kinda hard to spot, even during the day. You follow that road down about ten miles before you come to the first of the Father's two compounds."

"Why does he have two of them?" John asked as he watched her sketch a diagram of the first compound, detailing living quarters, bunkers, lookout posts, where weapons were kept, and finally where he would find Sam.

"One's smaller," she swallowed hard, a small cry escaping her lips, "for th-those who are not to be made members of the family."

"For those he plans on killing." John gave a curt nod in understanding. "And Sam's there."

"Yeah. He's there." Billy drew a fence line around the property, and at several points she marked them with X's. "Guards are stationed in these areas, and change shifts every four to five hours during the day and night." She then drew a circle around one area that didn't seem to be very well protected. "This spot backs up to a wooded area, and there's kind of a deep ravine running the length of it. It's hard to get to, but not impossible."

"And this Father guy doesn't think it poses a threat to leave it unguarded?"

Billy arched a delicate brow as she stared at the map of the compound. "Well, he does have two men make a general sweep of the area every six hours or so, but no, he doesn't think it poses much of a threat."

"How many men are in the compound at any given time?" John asked as he studied the map, taking mental notes, a plan already formulating in his mind. All he needed to do was break in and get to the weapons shed undetected, and he was certain he could get to Sam.

"No more than ten to fifteen."

"An' when they change guard, do the men stay there or go to the other compound?"

"Most go back to the main compound, that's where their sleeping quarters are located."

"So every four to five hours, the main gate," he gestured to the area on the map that indicated the front entrance, "is open for some length of time?"

Billy nodded, and then pointed to the lookout posts that flanked either side of it. "There is one man stationed in each of these towers for eight hour spans throughout the day. When anyone leaves the compound, one of their jobs is to make sure no captive is trying to escape by means of hiding in the vehicles."

"So then at some point during the day the towers are left empty. How about where the weapons are stored, an' what kind of weapons do they have?"

Billy bit pensively at her lower lip, her eyes narrowing as she tried to recall all the details. "There's just the regular guard." She tapped the tip of her pencil on a spot near the weapons shed and marked it. "Right here, there's a landmine. Father said that if anyone ever breeched the inner walls, they'd never make it to the weapons. You'll be able to recognize where it is by a patch of purple wild flowers growing around it."

John gave a nod, mentally making note of that. "An' the weapons?"

"Pretty much anything you could imagine. Father said we are at war with the world, and we needed to be prepared for anything. Guns, grenades, high-powered rifles, explosives, you name it, and it's there."

"Okay." he glanced over the map once more, and then looked up at Billy. "How about the other compound?"

"From where the first one is located, the road winds around and then veers off to the right. You follow it for about ten to fifteen miles and you come to the second compound." Again, Billy began to sketch the larger of the two compounds, making notes of living quarters, bathing areas, several outbuildings, two separate weapons sheds, several lookout towers, a building where they ate, and finally the underground bunkers where he would find Dean. Billy again drew X's where guards would be stationed, and John's stomach clenched realizing how difficult it would be to get to his older son.

"How many people live in this compound," he asked, trying to sound confident, but heard the tremble in his own voice, and knew Billy must have heard it as well.

"There's about thirty to forty men, and about another forty to fifty women."

"Any areas of the wall left unguarded?" he asked, but already knew the answer as he peered down the map littered with X's.

"No," Billy said with a single shake of her head. "However," she made a wide sweep of the expanse of the wall with her index finger, "this entire area is surrounded by a forest, and in several areas, the walls have been weakened by overgrown roots. In this spot," she jabbed her finger to a location on the far side of the barricade, "the wall has begun to crumble, and hasn't been repaired yet. If you can manage to draw the guards out of the compound there, you may be able to enter from that spot." She quickly marked the area as a reminder. "From there it's about twenty feet to the first weapon's shed."

"Same kind of weapons inside?"

"Yeah. If you can go in at night, there's a building here." She hastily marked the spot. "Inside you'll find different types of drugs that can be used to subdue the people who are asleep before they have a chance to realize what's going on."

"Same number of guards at night as during the day?"

"Maybe two or three more. A guard every thirty feet or so."

John studied the compound carefully, his mind wandering over all the details Billy had added as she sketched. To get to the people inside, he needed to cut them off from power. Darkness would be his advantage against his enemy. "Is there a generator anywhere in the compound?"

"Yeah, we have a backup incase the power goes out."

"Is there anyway you could disable it?"

"I can try," Billy pointed to a spot near where Dean was being held captive, and drew a circle around it. "They keep it here." She pointed to two other locations. "The main power lines come in here and here. If the power is cut to them, it usually takes a good ten minutes for the generator to kick in after that. And it only lights the main living quarters and two of the outbuildings. The flood lights are left totally without power."

"So if the main power supply went out, there would be a ten minute leeway to get in and get to the weapons, undetected," John remarked as a plan started to take shape in his mind. He was about to ask her another question when her phone rang.

"I have to take this," she said, casting an apologetic look in John's direction. "It'll just take a sec." Billy picked up the phone, and smiled. "Hello, First National Bank of America, Billy Carter, speaking." Billy was silent for a moment, and then she blanched considerably, her hand trembling as it tightened around the phone. "My Father's here?" She was quiet again as she looked to John, her eyes rounding in fear. "Can you tell him that I am just finishing up with a client and will be right out . . . okay, thanks." She hung up, and then quickly rolled up the maps and handed them to John. "You have to leave . . . you have to leave now."

"Alright." John hesitated, sensing how truly terrified she was, and his heart went out to her. She was risking everything to save his boys, and he hadn't even realized how much danger he was placing her in until this moment. "You gonna be okay? I mean, I'll stay if you think . . . if you think he might try and hurt you."

"I'll be okay." She feigned a fake smile for his benefit, although it didn't quite reach the depths of her eyes, and he knew she was lying.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

They both stood and headed for the door. Billy opened it and was greeted by the sight of her Father with his hand poised on the door ready to knock.

"Morning Dawn." The Father smiled, and then kissed her lightly on the cheek. Dressed in an expensive dark blue business suit, he turned down his nose on John, a grimace of distaste settling on his features. "Morning," he quickly said as he turned back to Billy.

"Nice suit." John smirked as he touched the rich fabric of the Father's sleeve. "You know they bury men in these kinds of suits."

"Excuse me?" The Father quirked a brow in confusion.

"I'm a funeral director of sorts." John gave the man who had hurt his boys and was holding them captive a tight-lipped smile. "It's my job to help people find their final resting place . . . you know, burn 'em if necessary. It's hard work, but sometimes it has it's rewards."

"How nice for you." The Father looked John squarely in the eyes, his own narrowing slightly as if confused by something, and then asked, "Have we met before? You look vaguely familiar to me."

John raised a brow as his lips curled downward, and then he shook his head. "Not unless you've spent a lot of time in graveyards . . . don't see you as much of the graveyard type though, Mr. Carter."

"Dominic," the Father quickly supplied, "and no, I don't usually frequent cemeteries." He chuckled, the deep rich sound of it filling John with intense undeniable rage, and it took every bit of willpower John had not to rip the man's throat out with his bare hands.

"Huh, woulda thought a man your age would be thinkin' a lot about his own death."

"No, can't say that I worry that much about dying."

"So you've never wondered if it will it be quick and painless or slow and excruciatingly painful." John's hand clenched tightly around the maps he was holding, crumpling them, but other than that he remained outwardly calm, although seething rage was bubbling right below the surface.

"No, my children keep me young, Mr . . . ." Dominic's voice trailed off as he waited for John to supply his name.

"John."

Dominic gave a curt nod. "Do you have children, John?"

John hands trembled as he fought back the urge to slam them into the man's simpering face. "No, lost them when they were young."

"That's too bad," Dominic said as he lovingly caressed Billy's face, and she tried her best to give him her sweetest smile, although John could tell she was trembling. "A parent should never have to bury their own child."

"True," John gave Dawn a reassuring smile, and then returned his attention to Dominic, "you'll never know what you're truly capable of doing until you lose your children." The muscle in his right cheek jerked erratically as he gritted his teeth, anger almost overriding all reasonable thought. "Bet if someone hurt Billy, you'd probably hunt them down, cut them wide open and watch them bleed to death."

"Huh," Dominic smiled as he glanced in Billy's direction, and then he narrowed his eyes on John, all traces of humor gone. "I would probably do worse."

"I have no doubt you would." John glanced at his watch, knowing that if he stood there another moment longer, nothing would hold him back from killing the man right there on the spot. "I'm afraid I have another appointment. Meeting with some of my associates to plan our newest undertaking. Never like to go into anything unprepared for the worst."

"Very smart of you, John." Dominic crossed his arms, a smirking grin easing it way across his hawkish features. "Never wise to underestimate the possibility of the best laid plans going awry. The results could be quite disastrous."

"Never been one to leave things to chance, Dominic," John very nearly snarled, his eyes taking on a hardened glint. "Like to think I have all my bases covered before I go into any undertaking.

Turning away from Dominic, John focused all his attention on Billy. "Thank you for your time, Miss Carter." John extended his arm to Billy, and took her hand in his, squeezing it gently but reassuringly. "I really appreciate all your help on gettin' me the loan for my business venture. Means more to me than you'll ever know, an' I can't even begin to think of how to repay you for all you've done."

Billy reluctantly let go of John's hand as Dominic slid his arm around her waist in an overtly protective manner. "That's my job, John." She gave him her best smile, her clear blue eyes filling with hope that John would be able to save Sam, and John understood that she was also praying that he would save her as well, and he was determined not to fail her. "I just hope things will all go accordingly, and all existing matters will soon be dealt with."

"Not thinkin' that's gonna be a problem." He turned on his heel, ready to leave, and then swung back abruptly, an icy glare filling his dark eyes as his unbridled anger took hold. "Maybe I'll be seein' you again sometime soon, Dominic, an' we can discuss our children at length."

Dominic moved a step closer to Billy, partially standing in front of her as if trying to protect her from John. "I'd have to say that would be my pleasure, John."

"No, the pleasure will be all mine." Without waiting for Dominic to respond, John swung back around, and strode toward the front doors of the bank.


	18. Chapter 18

_so, thought i had updated this a couple days ago, but apparently i was wrong, thanks to rennispice for reminding me to get my butt moving and post!! thanks to everyoen for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Eighteen_

"Showers are five minutes, no longer," a medium built man with dark green eyes said to Dean as he handed him a bar of soap, "the water cuts off after that an' if you aren't finished, you're pretty much out of luck." He then grabbed a new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste off the shelf and handed them to Dean as well. "All personal hygiene is to be taken care of while in the shower, which includes brushing your teeth." The corners of his eyes crinkled as a genuine smile crossed his features. "An' I'd suggested you brush first cause your breath smells somethin' fierce." He chuckled when Dean grimaced at him. "What, like you didn't realize that?" He cocked a brow, his smile deepening as he handed Dean a towel. "I mean, I could smell you about five minutes before you walked through the door."

"Do I have to shave my head in the shower, too? Or can I do that at the mirror?" Dean asked as he scrubbed his hand through the tiny bristles of hair on his head. A momentary wave of uncertainty crashed down upon him, and he took a backward step toward the door leading out of the bathing area. Two men standing guard at the entrance, immediately blocked the exit, and Dean reluctantly realized he was too weak to overpower them, and too damn tired to try for that matter.

"Naw, you have to do that in the shower as well. Takes some getting used to, but after a while you'll be able to get it all done in five minutes."

"How the hell am I supposed to get all that done in five minutes?" Dean scowled, knowing there was no way he was going to get it all done in that short amount of time. He was used to taking long leisurely showers, only getting out after the last of the hot water was gone, but knew there was no point in arguing.

"I'd suggest shaving your head first, cause you don't wanna make Father angry," the bathroom attendant warned. "Then brush your teeth and scrub up at the same time. Not so tough when you get the hang of it." He gestured toward the first shower stall, and then handed Dean a razor. "Better hurry up, breakfast is in ten minutes, an' if you aren't there on time, you go without."

Without another word, Dean trudged to the shower stall and turn on the water. A blast of lukewarm water sprayed across his bruised and damaged body, and a weary groan ushered past his lips. He quickly set about the task of shaving his head, wanting nothing more than to get it over with as rapidly as possible, and then stood directly beneath the spray, rinsing off. He squeezed some toothpaste on his toothbrush, and hurried to brush his teeth as he simultaneously scrubbed his body with the soap. Not even halfway finished with the whole process, the water cut off just as predicted, and he was left covered in grimy soap.

"Guhh . . . come on, damn it." He slammed his open hand against the wall. "Who the freakin' hell can take a shower, shave, and brush their teeth in five freakin' minutes." Twisting the knob on the faucet, he glanced up at the showerhead, wanting nothing more than a little water to rinse off with, and that was just what he got; a few droplets of water sprinkled out of the showerhead, and then it ran dry.

"Told you showers were only five minutes," came the bathroom attendant's mocking voice. "Shoulda washed faster."

"Not really in the freakin' mood for an I told you so at the moment, Spanky," Dean grumbled as he toweled off all the soap. The crisp white towel quickly turned brown from all the dirt that still clung to Dean's body, and his scowl deepened as he spit out the remaining toothpaste in his mouth, nearly gagging on the overly minty taste of it.

"The name's Lucas, Child," the attendant said as he strode over to Dean, and handed him a pair of clean white boxers. "Here, put these on."

Dean tilted his head to the side, hoping to find more clothes lying around that he could wear, but saw none. "What about pants an' a shirt?"

"You have to earn them. They're considered a privilege, an' as you're a new member of the family, you haven't earned the right to wear them yet."

With brows furrowing together, Dean glared at the older man. "You gotta be kiddin' me, right? Clothes can't be a privilege . . . I mean, they're clothes . . . that's just freakin' ridiculous."

"Clothes are a privilege," Lucas tapped his right index finger against his left, "food is a privilege," he tapped against his middle finger, "water and sleep are privileges," he tapped the two remaining fingers on his hand. "You earn your right to be a member of this family."

"Is breathing a freakin' privilege, too?"

"Thought you already knew the answer to that one," came the Father's low sinister voice, and Dean swung around on the spot to stare at the gloating man. The Father had slipped quietly into the bathing area, and was now leaning against the wall with arms crossed. "However, if you're still unsure on the matter, we can work on that one."

The Father pushed away from the wall, and stalked to Dean. Four more of his men entered the room, and followed closely behind. The two others who had been standing guard took up their paces behind the men, and within a matter of seconds all seven men surrounded Dean. Father gripped a hold of Dean's chin and jerked his face from side to side. "You forgot to shave, Child," he said as he trailed his hand down the sides of Dean's cheeks.

"Didn't have time, Father," Dean muttered as he lowered his gaze to look at the ground.

"You didn't have time," the Father gave a curt nod as he pivoted on his heel to look at all his men, and then turned back to stare at Dean. "Seems as if you were the only one who didn't have the time as everyone else here is cleanly shaven."

"Jus' needed a few more minutes . . . coulda finished if I had a few more minutes." The moment the words slipped past Dean's lips, he instantly regretted them, and by the look of the deep-set scowl on the Father's face, he knew that he was going to suffer for them.

"Just a few more minutes," the older man rubbed his hand across his stubbled jaw as if contemplating the validity of what Dean had just said, then smiled, "that's all you needed . . . just a couple of minutes more. You should have just said so." With a half-turn toward Lucas, he nudged his head in the direction of the shower. "Turn the water back on all the way," he shifted to look at Dean again, his grin widening, "only the cold."

As Lucas hurried off to do the Father's bidding, the other men grabbed a hold of Dean and hefted him into the air, and carried him toward the shower stall. Dean kicked and squirmed in their arms, but they tightened their grasp on him until he could barely move a muscle. The moment Dean's face was under the showerhead, the water came on full blast. Ice cold water sprayed down onto his face, filling his nostrils, and he sputtered and gasped as the water slid down into the back of his throat. Opening his mouth, he tried to draw in a breath, but instead drank in more water. He jerked his head from side to side, thrashing wildly as his heart hammered away inside his chest. His lungs burned as he coughed and choked on the water, and he knew if the Father didn't relent soon he would drown.

"Showers are five minutes. No longer. Do you understand, Child?" The Father asked as he gripped hold of Dean's chin. Dean gave a weak nod as he continued to cough and gasp for air. "Very good. Lucas, you can turn off the water."

Within a few moments the water turned off, and the Father's men dropped Dean on the ground, a sputtered cry of pain escaping his blue-tinged lips as his back collided with the cold tile floor. Hard racking coughs to dredge up all the water in his lungs, left Dean feeling dizzy and lightheaded, and as he struggled to get back on his feet, he grabbed a hold of the Father's crimson robes for support. The Father reach out a hand to him, and Dean weakly gripped onto it.

"Get dressed, Child." The Father smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he lightly patted Dean on the cheek. "Breakfast is about to be served, and you don't want to be late." With that said, he turned on his heel, and strode out of the bathing area, leaving his men behind to wait for Dean.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dean entered the eating area of the compound with three men flanking on either side of him. He glanced around in surprise at how much it reminded him of a school cafeteria. Long tables lined the expansive room in columns with narrow rows in between each for walking. In the far left hand corner there was an area set up for serving food, and behind that was the kitchen itself. People carrying bright orange trays were already in line waiting to be served their breakfast, and Dean couldn't help but notice that quite a few of them looked as undernourished as he felt. Through lowered lashes, he watched as several of his new brothers and sisters were turned away with nothing on their trays, and briefly wondered what they were being punished for.

One of the Father's men nudged Dean forward toward the line, and he hastily took up his steps. The savory scent of bacon and eggs wafted through the overly warm room. Dean's mouth watered, his stomach rumbling uncomfortably, and for a moment he could've sworn that everyone in the room must have heard it as they all turned to stare at him. He quickly realized the reason was not his overly loud stomach, but the fact that he was the only one there wearing just boxers and nothing else.

As he passed by each table, men and women would smile politely at him, and say good morning, then turn back to their breakfast as if his haggard appearance was commonplace and didn't warrant any special interest. Oddly enough, after a few moments, Dean found himself saying good morning back to them as if he'd been doing it everyday of his life.

At the end of the line, he grabbed a tray and silverware then stood to wait his turn, his stomach protesting violently as he drew in a deep breath, and smelled the tantalizing aroma of coffee brewing. The girl who stood directly in front of him, turned and smiled sweetly at him.

"Morning, Child," she said, and then bit pensively at her lower lip as she looked to the men who stood guard over Dean. "I'm Morning Dawn, but most people just call me Dawn."

"Morning, Dawn," Dean cautiously glanced at his guard to make sure it was all right to speak to her, and when none of them made a move to stop him he continued, "what I meant to say was hi, Dawn." He returned her smile with one of his own, but all too quickly it faded.

"See you are being well looked after by our brothers . . . real brothers are very important, you should never forget that," she said, and for some reason Dean had the feeling she wasn't referring to any of the men in the room. She narrowed her startlingly clear blue eyes on Dean then peered beyond him toward the center table at the head of the room. Dawn then refocused her attention on Dean.

Brushing up against the person in front of her, Dawn jerked forward, dropped her tray and collided into Dean. At the same time, they both stooped to pick up the fallen tray and plastic silverware off the floor, almost bumping heads.

"Don't forget your real family, Dean," she whispered in a breathless rush as they hurried to pick everything up.

"Huh?" Dean murmured in stunned surprise, his eyes rounding slightly at the sound of his own name.

They both grabbed for the fork at the same time, and Dawn pulled him closer. "Things are not always what they seem," she muttered through clenched teeth, her voice barely audible with the sounds of dishes and pans clattering in the background. "An' sometimes people aren't as far away as you might think."

She stood, a disarming smile gracing her delicate features for the benefit of all her brothers, and they grinned back, totally enchanted by her. "Like I was saying, there is nothing that can compare to having a _real_ brother who would risk his life to protect you. Someone who has your back even when you don't realize it."

For a split second, Dean could've almost sworn she was talking about Sam, but then he saw all the brothers nodding in agreement, and whatever small hope that he might have had that Sam hadn't left him was crushed beneath the weight of his new brothers' smiles. "I'll remember that," he managed to utter as he handed her the silverware he'd picked up.

Dawn leaned in as she took her silverware, and made a very slight gesture toward the word etched on his chest, and whispered, "He can only take from you what you allow him to take, Dean. Don't let him take all of you." Without another word, she turned away and walked away from Dean, quickly getting lost in the crowd of people.


	19. Chapter 19

_thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! still a really long way to go!! hope everyone is still liking the story!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Nineteen_

Dean glanced down at the lumpy oatmeal on his tray and grimaced. He'd always hated oatmeal, it reminded him of the paste they used in school for gluing things together, and that's pretty much what it tasted like too. And if by some weird cosmic chance in hell he did happen to love oatmeal and water for breakfast, there wasn't enough of it in his bowl to even remotely quell the growling pain in his stomach.

The scent of bacon and coffee still lingered heavily in the air, but as he looked around the dining area, he noticed that like himself everyone else had oatmeal and water on their trays. Unlike himself, however, they all dug into their tiny bowls of pasty goo with gusto, which either meant his new brothers and sisters were all a bunch of freak oatmeal loving fools or like himself they were absolutely starving. And as he was a gambler, he figured the latter was a safe bet.

As he shuffled through the crowd of people, searching for a place to sit, he also looked for Dawn. Confused by the evasive things she'd said to him, Dean couldn't help but feel that it had been deliberate on her part. And when she spoke of brothers, the word didn't conjure up the image of his new family, but of Sam, and he wondered if it was intentional on her part or just wishful thinking on his.

Dawn had also called him Dean when everyone else called him Child. A weird unexplainable feeling crept into the pit of his stomach upon hearing the name he'd heard constantly all his life. It was almost as if the name didn't fit him anymore. Dean was a strong name, for an equally strong person. It was a name of a man who could fight and protect people from danger. It was a name that said, 'I gotcha' and 'nothing's gonna hurt you, not while I've got your back' and the words meant something.

No, the name didn't fit him any longer. He was Child. Weak and pathetic.

"Child," one of his new brother's broke in on his thoughts, and motioned toward the head table where the Father was sitting, "Father wants you to sit with him."

Dean lifted his head, and spotted Dawn sitting in the seat beside the Father. Their heads were drawn closely together, and Dawn was laughing at something the Father had said to her. Briefly they both looked in Dean's direction, and their laughter grew louder as the Father gestured to the word etched on his chest.

Tears burned at Dean's eyes as he forced a smile. Dawn had been playing with him, probably at the Father insistence, he reasoned, but it didn't make it hurt any less. Foolishly he'd believed she'd cared, and he desperately needed that at the moment. Needed someone who would look beyond how broken and useless he was and would like him nonetheless. That had always been Sam's job, and he'd abandon his post, leaving Dean alone and defenseless.

Hatred swelled near overflowing in Dean's heart for Sam. His fingers curled tightly around his tray as he thought back to all the things he'd given up to protect Sam. Sadly, it finally sank in that his brother had always been a selfish bastard who only cared about himself. Sam's own actions had always proven that much. He'd left for college when he knew how much it would kill Dean for him to leave. He'd never wanted to be a hunter, had always questioned why it was their job to protect others instead of having lives of their own. And the very first opportunity Sam had received, he'd hightailed it away from the family, and Dean should have realized it right then and there how little strength of character his little brother really had.

"You gonna stand here lookin' at your oatmeal all day, or are ya gonna get moving?" the same man who had spoken to him a few minutes before said as he pushed Dean forward toward the Father's table.

A smart remark burned on Dean's tongue, but died on his lips as Dawn made eye contact with him. Her earlier laughter belied the small encouraging smile she cast in his direction, and he lowered his head, not about to be made a fool of again by her.

"Get movin', Child." The bald-headed man pushed Dean a little harder, and the cup on Dean's tray teetered for a moment before toppling over, water spilling into his oatmeal. "Damn, sorry about that," he chuckled, "hope you like soggy oatmeal."

"Love it," Dean muttered as he trudged toward the Father and Dawn.

Dean stopped at the table the Father was sitting at and waited for him to finish speaking to Dawn.

As he waited, his gaze traveled down the length of the long table, and although there were many seats available, the only two occupied were by the Father and Dawn. He glanced over his shoulder, and although he saw many people milling around trying to find a place to sit, none dare approach the head table.

"Sit beside me, Child." The Father placed his hand on the chair to his right hand side, and Dean moved around the table to take a seat. Dean tried to pull out the chair, but the Father's hand tightened around the backrest as he briefly lowered his gaze to the ground. "On the floor."

A whispered murmuring rose within the room, and just as quickly died away as Dean stood there with hands clenched firmly around his breakfast tray, humiliated. Heat spread upward from his neck to flush his face as he slowly crouched into a sitting position on the dirty floor. He lowered his head and began to choke down the water-logged oatmeal, gagging as it stuck to the roof of his mouth and caught in the back of his throat.

"Morning Dawn," the Father leaned closer to Dawn and lovingly brushed her wispy bangs out of her eyes, "I want you to go and check on our little pet. You know how he gets when he doesn't have his medication." A low mirthless chuckle escaped the Father's lips as he pat the back of Dean's head as if the once fearless hunter was no more than a mangy puppy begging for scraps. "We wouldn't want him to suffer, now would we?"

"No, Father. I'll do my best to take care of him." Dawn caught Dean's eye for the briefest of moments and it was as if she was trying to convey something extremely important in that fleeting glance, but Dean wasn't buying into her pretense of concern. "H-he isn't doing well." Her breath hitched in her throat, blue eyes glistening as she feigned a smile. "Don't think he's gonna be able to hold out much longer."

If Dean hadn't witnessed her cruelty firsthand a few minutes before, he would've sworn that she truly cared for the animal they spoke of, but he wasn't about to be fooled by her a second time. "Haven't seen any animals around here," Dean spoke up as he tried to recall if he's seen even one dog or cat roaming around the compound, but couldn't remember seeing any.

"That's cause we keep him chained up," the Father quickly supplied, motioning for Dawn to leave. Dawn rose from her seat, kissed the Father on the cheek and then hurried away to do his bidding. Returning his attention to Dean, the Father picked up a piece of bacon off his plate and studied it for a moment. "He's really been a huge pest, but I just couldn't let him wander the streets in his condition. Never know what kind of trouble he might have stirred up."

The Father held out the thick slab of bacon to him, and Dean snatched it out of his hand. Hastily devouring it, Dean winced as he licked his dried, chapped lips. The slightly salty aftertaste clung to his tongue as he glanced down at his oatmeal, and grimaced.

"Here, Child," the Father chuckled as he handed Dean another piece of bacon, "wouldn't want to be seen as playing favorites, but I've grown quite fond of you. Think like Morning Dawn, you will be one of my special children."

"Special children?"

"Yes, the one's whom I rely on to protect the family's interest, those who make sure no one harms the rest of my children." He cupped a hold of Dean's chin, and gently raised it so Dean was looking him squarely in the eyes. "I think you're special." He let those words sink in for a few minutes and when Dean smiled, he added, "Think this family is lucky to have you. Will you protect our family, Child? Will you protect me?"

"With my life, Father," Dean responded without the slightest hesitation.

"That's my boy." The Father rose to stand, and motioned for Dean to do the same. Dean set his tray on the table, and made his way to his feet. "I want to show you something," he called back over his shoulder as he headed for the exit, and Dean followed.

Once outside, the Father slowed his pace so they were walking side by side. In the middle of the courtyard the Father stopped and made a wide sweeping gestured toward all the men on guard near the gated wall. "I've personally helped train all these men to protect the family. All of them are near perfect marksmen. However, I have a feeling you could out shoot them all." The Father turned to look at him, narrowing his eyes as he scrutinized Dean. "Am I right?" At Dean's subtle nod, the Father smiled. "Thought as much. I want you to teach them to be perfect."

"Why do they need to be perfect?" Dean watched as his brothers march back and forth in front of the tall wooden barricade fence, guns at the ready. "What are we fighting against?"

"The world, Child."

"Don't understand."

"We are the special ones . . . the chosen ones," the Father began to explain as he again pointed toward all his children wandering around the expansive compound, "We have been appoint by God himself to usher in a new age of hope to the world. To bring peace at long last." The Father hesitated for a moment as he looked Dean in the eyes, his own reflecting so much love that Dean was momentarily lost in them. "God sifts through all the rumble and finds only the most precious of gems and brings them to me to hone and shape to perfection. You were chosen, Child. Brought to me by God so that you could serve a higher purpose."

"I was chosen?" Dean could've almost laughed, but the look on the older man's face clearly said that he truly believed everything he was saying, and Dean found himself wanting to believe it as well. "What higher purpose are we serving?"

"A one world rule. No more wars. No more homeless, starving people. A place where our children can be safe from harm."

The Father picked up his pace again and Dean followed. They entered one of the larger outbuildings, and Dean could hear the sounds of children laughing and playing. They strode down a long corridor and Dean glanced into several rooms along the way, and was surprised to find them brimming with children of all ages. All the little boys had military style crewcuts and wore black t-shirts and jeans, while all the girls had their long hair tied back in braids and wore plain, knee-length blue dresses.

Entering one of the rooms, the Father cleared his throat to gain everyone attention, and all the children stopped playing and immediately fell silent. "These are my children. They are your brothers and sisters." He turned to address all his children as he gestured to Dean. "This is my son and your newest brother. His new name is Dominic. No longer a child, but a man worthy of the name." He smiled at Dean, and Dean found himself smiling back, liking the sound of his new name.

All the children rushed toward Dean, nearly knocking him over as they hugged onto his legs, and Dean had to laugh at their enthusiasm and outward show of love toward him. A raven-haired girl with bright blue eyes tugged at his arm to gain his attention. When he looked at her, she crooked a chubby little finger and motioned for him to come closer. He crouched down to her level and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

"Love ya, Dominic," the little girl whispered in Dean's ear before she ran off to play again.

Dean's smiled faltered briefly as he spotted one lone boy who stood apart from the others. The boy slowly shook his head, hazel eyes brimming with unshed tears. He stared at Dean for a moment and then glanced to his left toward the corner of the room, and Dean could've sworn for a moment that he saw a faint shadow before it disappeared.

"They need you, Dominic," the Father assurances brought Dean's attention back to him. He patted one of his sons on the top of the head, and then bobbed his head towards the others. "All of them need you. They are our future, and yet they cannot protect themselves from the evils of this world. Will you protect them?"

"With my life, Father."

"Good. I knew you would make for the perfect son, Dominic. I'm proud of you."

All thoughts of the shadow he'd seen disappeared at the Father's words. His Father was proud of him, and that was all he'd ever really wanted to hear. Warmth of his new family wrapped itself around him, and he was at home and at peace at long last.


	20. Chapter 20

_thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! still a really long way to go!! hope everyone is still liking the story!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Twenty_

"Sam," Dawn carefully gathered Sam into her arms, and heard him groan in pain. "Come on, Sam, you have to wake up for me."

Another weak groan escaped Sam's lips as he trembled in her arms. "D-Dawn . . . pl-please?" he mumbled as he tried to focus his eyes on her. "Jus' a . . . a little." He licked his dried, cracked lips, swallowing hard as he lowered his gaze to her pocket.

"No, not yet, Sam." Fear crept into Dawn's heart as she realized how deeply the heroin was taking over Sam's life and thoughts, and his addiction to it was solely her fault. No matter how she reasoned that the Father had made her give it to Sam, it always circled back to the overwhelming fact that she wasn't strong enough to protect the man she loved from harm.

A sad frown creased her brow as understanding filled her mind. There would be no easy way back for Sam. No quick cure for what she'd done to him. Even when they were free from the Father's hold on them, Sam would continue to suffer, and he would despise her for it. She knew it would be well deserved, fair and just, but prayed with all her heart that he would somehow be able to look beyond all that she had done, and love her like she loved him.

_Why the hell would he love me? _she chided herself as a bone-weary sigh slipped past her lips_. I'm the reason he's here. I'm the reason he's so broken. _

Dawn thought back to the day when she'd met Sam at the bank. Sam had been so trusting, his thoughts solely on saving Dean. He had never even considered that she wasn't who she pretended to be. She'd played her part to perfection, all-the-while her thoughts purely intent on telling the Father of the threat Sam represented to the family.

"I'm so sorry, Sam," Dawn whispered as she brushed away the tears slipping down her cheeks. She lowered her head and kissed him softly on the lips, and only drew back when she felt him wince. "This is all my fault, but I swear to God I'll make it right.

"N-not your fault," Sam murmured, his shallow breath warm and reassuring against her cheek. "Want ya to go . . . d-don't wanna see ya hurt cause of me."

"Not leaving you here alone. Made you a promise that we would get out of here together, an' I meant it."

"Please go, Da-wn," Sam's voice hitched in throat as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. A small anguished cry burst from his lips as he writhed in her arms. "Pl-ease," he managed to choke out between staggering gasps, "n-need ya ta be safe."

"No. I need you to listen to me, okay." Dawn yanked a bottle of water out of her jacket pocket, twisted off the cap, and put it to Sam's lips. Water spilled down the corners of his mouth as he struggled to take a drink. "I talked to your father, Sam. He's gonna get you out of here. Do you understand me? He's coming to get you."

"H-he's not c-comin'," Sam slowly shook his head, "n-never has before . . . ." his voice trailed off as tears filled his eyes. "Doesn't c-care."

"Listen, I don't know anything about your father, or your family for that matter, but he said he was gonna get you out of here. An' from the look of determination I saw in his eyes, I believe him."

"Tried . . . c-called 'im." Sam shivered uncontrollably and huddled closer to her for warmth. "N-never called b-back."

"Sam, he's here," Dawn tried again as she gently pushed the damp strands of hair out of Sam's eyes, "I swear to God, he's comin' to get you out of here."

"D-Dean?" H-he's here?" Confusion and panic registered on Sam's haggard features as his gaze darted around the confines of the cold, dark cellar, fearfully searching for any signs of his brother. "D-don't let h-him . . . he hurt . . . Pl-please — " Breath catching in his throat, Sam's body arched upward as he squinched his eyes closed.

"No, Dean's not here," Dawn softly soothed, hating herself all-the-more for having to continue lying to Sam. She hadn't been with the Father on his two subsequent visits to see Sam, but from Sam's reaction, Dawn knew the Father had used Sam's growing fear of his brother to his full advantage. From what she could tell, there were no new bruises or injuries on Sam's body, and she guessed at this point there really didn't need to be. Sam was so broken, inwardly as well as outwardly, that the Father only needed to play on Sam's irrational fears to get what he wanted from him.

At the sound of someone clearing their voice, she glanced up and saw the Father leaning against the doorway of the cell with his arms crossed. His face was somewhat hidden in the shadows, but she could clearly see the disapproving frown etched into his hawk-like features.

"You paint a beautiful picture of an angel watching over a fallen man, Morning Dawn." The Father smiled, although it didn't reach the depths of his cold blue eyes. "You wouldn't be by any chance thinking of betraying the trust I placed in you?"

"No," Dawn hastily responded as she bravely looked him in the eyes. A tremor of fear coursed the length of her spine, her stomach flip-flopping violently as she wondered how long he'd been standing there, and just what he might have overheard. "You know I would never think to betray you, Father."

"Of all my children, I love you the most. You know that." His frown deepened into a scowl as he gestured toward her bandaged hand. "And you have no idea how profoundly it would hurt me if I was forced to have to punish you again."

"I swear I was just doing as you told me to do," she lied effortlessly, and inwardly cringed when she felt Sam tense in her arms.

"So you've drugged him then?" The Father moved into the cell, crouched beside her, and lifted her chin so she was looking him squarely in the eyes. "I have to ask this because to me, he really doesn't seem drugged, an' those were the specific orders I gave to you."

"No, I hadn't yet," she hesitated for a moment, trying to think of a plausible reason for not doing as the Father had commanded, but couldn't think of anything. "I . . . well, I — "

"I stopped h-her," Sam hissed through clenched teeth as he made a conscious effort to forcefully push himself away from Dawn.

Though Sam wasn't strong enough to pull off the effect he'd been hoping for, Dawn realized what he was doing and propelled herself backward into the bars of the cell. A small cry of pain slipped past her lips as her head collided with the cold unforgiving metal, and through partially squinted eyes she noticed the Father smile.

"Huh, I see you still have some fight left in you, boy. Really thought your brother would've beaten that out of you by now."

The Father held out his hand to Dawn, and she reluctantly pulled the vial of heroin along with the needle out of her pocket and gave them to him. Afraid to witness what new evil the Father had in store for Sam, Dawn stood to leave, but the older man grabbed hold of her hand, effectively putting a stop to her plans.

"Not yet, Morning Dawn. I want you here with me."

"Father, I have to go to work," she said in protest, hoping he would understand and let her go, but his grip only tightened around her fingers in response.

"Work can wait." He filled the syringe, jabbed the needle into Sam's arm, and squeezed the heroin into the younger man's vein.

Whether Sam was too weak or his need for the drug too great, he didn't even try to fight the Father. An audible sigh of relief issued past Sam's trembling lips as he closed his eyes, his pain momentarily forgotten as the heroin took hold of him.

"Tell Dawn how you killed our mother, Sam," the Father said in a low crisp voice as he ground his balled fist into Sam's injured back, and Sam let out a cry of pain. "Tell her how she died because of you."

"Dea . . . pl-ple-ase," Sam begged, tears rolling down his cheek as he squirmed under the Father's cruel touch.

"Tell her about your visions. How you can see people dying before it happens," The Father continued to taunt as he dug his fist deeper into Sam's back. "Tell her how many people have died because of you . . . make her understand how evil you truly are."

"I d-didn't . . . wasn't m-my — "

"Your fault," the Father cut him off, a cruel smirk twisting on his lips. "Our mother died because of you. Dad took off and left us because of you. He knows you're evil. He says you're worse than any demon. So why don't you just freakin' admit it."

Dawn clenched her fists, fighting the overwhelming urge to gather Sam into her arms and protect him from the Father. She knew the Father was testing her, and to show any outward sign of caring toward Sam now would mean the end for any hope of escape. Schooling her features, she feigned a smile when the older man glanced in her direction, and prayed that he wouldn't notice the unshed tears shimmering in her eyes. For a moment, the Father seemed puzzled by her reaction, but then grinned in approval.

"How many more people need to die because of you?" the Father pressed onward, wielding his words like the sharpest of swords. "You're evil . . . have always been evil since the day you were born. Always leaving me to pick up the pieces. I'm done, Sam. Let the Yellow-Eyed sonuvabitch take you. You deserve to rot in Hell."

Dawn bit down hard on her lower lip in an attempt to keep from crying out as she watched how the Father words cut deeply into Sam. Although she didn't understand what any of it meant, she had a feeling the Father had learned everything he was saying from Sam, and was twisting it until it did the worst possible damage.

"You killed Jessica. She loved you, and you let her die. You selfish bastard." Sam clutched the sides of his head, trying to cover his ears so he wouldn't have to hear anymore, but the Father voice grew louder in response. "You're evil, Sam. A manipulative self-righteous bastard who only really cares about yourself."

"Please . . . st-stop, Dea . . . ." Sam's voice trailed off as he choked on a sob. He pushed himself backwards into the far corner of the cell, trying to escape from the constant barrage of hateful words.

"Dad told me that he'd wished you had died in the fire. Wished that he never thrust you into my arms, and ordered me to save you. His wife is dead because of you. Our mother is dead because of you."

"N-no . . . n-not true," Sam's fingers curled tightly around his hair as he shook his head. "Not m-my fault."

"Who's fault is it then, Sam," the Father moved closer to Sam, leaned in and whispered, "we were happy before you were born. Dad was happy. Mom was alive. Then you came along an' everything changed. You brought evil into our home. You're no better than a demon, an' deserve to die like one."

Dawn backed away, sliding along the bars of the cell until she was at the entrance. Although she knew the door was open, she knew there was no means of escape for her, but she desperately needed to be away from the pain she felt in her heart for Sam. He was breaking right before her eyes, and she could do nothing to stop it from happening. The Father was pushing all the right buttons to push Sam right over the edge, and she was following him off the cliff.

"Dea . . . please . . . d-don't," Sam begged as he looked into the Father's cold unrelenting eyes. "I-I didn't . . . I'm not — "

"You're evil. Admit it . . . Admit it, and then die so we can all be happier."

"Sam," Dawn said in a breathless whisper as he glanced up at her. "Please don't give in, I love you," she mouthed the words, but wasn't sure he'd noticed or understood even if he had.

"How many more people need to die before you admit what you truly are." The Father pushed Sam backward against the bars of the cell, and a scream burst from the younger man's mouth. Pinned there by the older man's arm, Sam writhed in pain. Tears streamed down Sam's cheeks as the Father pressed all his weight into him, grounding his injured back into the cold steel.

"I-I'm evil . . . e-evil . . . I'm evil," Sam repeated over and over again, his eyes wild with pain and heartbreak. His fingers curled even tighter around his hair as he continued to shake his head. "I-I'm evil . . . I'm evil . . . I'm evil . . . ."

"See, that wasn't so tough." The Father stood, strode to Dawn, grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her out of the cell. "Come, Morning Dawn, you have to be getting to work."

Slamming the cell door shut, the Father glanced back at Sam and smiled. Anything the Father might have said to her as he led her out of the cellar was drowned out by the sound of Sam's broken voice, uttering the same words over and over again. The crazed man had done his worst, and now Sam was hopelessly lost to her, and she didn't know if she could bring him back. The only thing she did know for certain was that if John didn't come to break them out of there tonight, she would find a way to do it herself.


	21. Chapter 21

_thanks for reading and for all_ _really awesome reviews so far...bambers;)_

_Chapter Twenty-One_

"Dominic." The Father gently shooed the children away from Dean. A soft smile lingered on his features as a little blond-haired girl tugged at his robes and when he bent down, she kissed him on the cheek. Tousling her hair, he bobbed his head toward the others. "Run along, Morning Glory, your brother Dominic and I have business to take care of," he said with a grin, and she hurried off to play.

"You really love them all the same, don't you, Father," Dean asked, not quite believing a father could love all his children equally.

"They're all my children, why would I love any one of them less?" he replied with a somewhat puzzled look on his face. "I wouldn't be much of a parent if I did that, now would I?"

"An' you don't think there are some who deserve to be protected more than the others?"

"Why would I think that?" The Father quirked a brow as he continued to stare at Dean. "All my children deserve to be protected equally." Turning on his heel, he headed for the door, and motioned for Dean to follow. "Come, Dominic, we need to get you looked over by the doctor, an' then I have something I want to show you."

Dean followed the Father back through the open courtyard to another building. The strong scent of antiseptic cleaner assailed his senses the moment he walked through the doors, and was surprised to find that it was a fully functional medical clinic.

"Father said you would be stopping by here," greeted a young, raven-haired woman with sea-green eyes.

"Dominic, this is April Raine," the Father quickly made introductions as he stood with his hand on the opened door. "She's an excellent doctor, and will make sure you are well taken care of." He turned to leave, but then swung back as if he'd forgotten something. "Wait here for me when you're done. I shouldn't be gone long." With that said, he strode out the door, leaving Dean alone with April Raine.

"I'd just finished preparing the exam room before you arrived, so if you'll just follow me." She led Dean back to the first of two examination rooms and gestured for him to hop up on the table. "Just so you know," she began in a soft, soothing voice, "everyone besides Father just calls me Raine."

"You're a real doctor," Dean asked as he took a seat on the examination table.

"No," Raine laughed as she gestured to the medical plaque on the wall off to Dean's right hand side, "I just had that degree made up for shits and giggles." She rolled her eyes. "Course I'm a real doctor. Near the top of my class, too."

"Didn't mean anything by it." Color rose to flush Dean's cheeks, and he found it hard to meet her steady gaze. "Was just surprised that there would be a real doctor workin' here."

"Would it make you feel any better if I said I moonlight as a stripper in the next building over?" She chuckled even harder when Dean eyed her appreciatively. "Put your eyes back in your head, lust boy, the only person who's gonna be seeing anyone naked around here is me."

"Damn, an' here I was hopin' for a lap dance too." Dean grinned, feeling totally at ease with her.

"You couldn't afford me," she retorted with a playful wink, and further added, "how do you think I paid my way through medical school."

"Aww . . . darlin', now I'm really gonna need a lap dance." Dean's smile slowly widened until he was laughing along with her. It had been the first time in weeks that he'd actually laughed at anything, and was surprised how great it felt.

"You have a beautiful smile, Dominic. It takes away the sadness from your eyes," Raine said as she put on a pair of surgical gloves and went around behind Dean and carefully began cleaning the wounds on his back. A low hiss escaped him as he winced and jerked, under her cautious probing of all the deep cuts. The room began to swim before his eyes, and he had to grip onto the table to keep himself from falling face first off of it.

"I'm sorry, Dominic," came her gentle voice against his ear, "but I have to make sure there's no debris in your wounds."

"'S'okay," Dean mumbled, "I'm used to it."

"Yeah, I can see that. A lot of old scars for someone your age." Raine continued her meticulous quest to make sure she'd taken care of each and every wound on his back, and to her credit, Dean found that he'd never met a doctor as gentle and caring as she was. "Luckily I see no sign of infection, which is a good thing."

"I'm gonna listen to your lungs, so could you take a couple of deep breaths for me?" When Dean gave a curt nod, she lightly pressed a stethoscope against his back. "'Kay breathe in deeply and slowly release." She listened and then moved the scope to another spot. "And again." Dean took another breath and slowly released it. "One more time." Again, he breathed in deeply, and exhaled. "Any pain?"

"M'okay." Although his ribs still ached as he was fairly certain none were broken so he didn't feel the need to mention them to her.

"You're sure? You have some pretty significant bruising, and Father would be angry if I overlooked anything."

"M'fine," he assured, and then winced when she gently pressed her fingertips against his ribcage. "'Kay, so my ribs hurt a bit, but it's nothin' I can't deal with."

"Alright, I'll let it go for now, but if the pain should worsen, I want you to come back here so I can get an x-ray. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yeah."

Raine moved around to the front of the table, and throughly cleaned the injuries on Dean's chest and the puncture wound to his arm. A wistful frown graced her features as she gently applied a salve to Dean's burns.

"I know it probably hurts pretty bad," she gestured to the burns on his chest, "but there are no full thickness burns and no charring of the skin, which is a very good thing. Which probably doesn't mean a helluva lot to you," she cast a sympathetic smile in his direction, "but it means that scarring should be at a minimum."

"Are we just about done here?" Dean asked, wanting desperately to draw the attention away from the word etched into his skin.

"Yeah, just one last thing," she said as she headed for the medicine cabinet in the far corner of the room. "When was the last time you had a tetanus shot, Dominic?"

"Not sure. Couple years ago maybe."

"'Kay, then I'm gonna give you a booster shot. Wouldn't want to have to treat you for lockjaw on top of everything else." Unlocking the cabinet, she searched until she found the tetanus vaccine, and then walked back to where Dean was seated. "This might sting a little, an' you might notice some pain at the injection site for a few days."

A low hiss slipped past Dean's lips as she injected the tetanus shot into the muscle of his arm. After she was finished, she placed a small bandage over the spot, and then wrapped a wide bandage around his chest and stomach.

"I want you to come back here everyday so I can clean and change your bandages, understand?" she said in a no-nonsense manner.

Dean nodded, a cocksure grin working its way across his features. "Is that your subtle way of asking me out on a date?"

"Please," Raine rolled her eyes, "if I were gonna ask you out, the invitation would neither be subtle or involve clean bandages." Taking off her glove and tossing them away, Raine pointed to a bundle of clothes on lying on a chair. "Father said to give those to you. They should fit perfectly, but if not I can get you something else to wear."

Dean hopped down from the table, and lumbered over to the chair and snatched the clothes off of it. He slipped on the black jeans, zipped them up, then pulled the black t-shirt on over his head. After tucking his shirt in, he took a seat and pulled on his socks and boots. When Raine saw that he was struggling to tie his laces, she walked over to him, knelt and tied them.

"Coulda done it myself." Dean scowled, not liking that she would believe him too weak to do something as simple as tying his own shoes.

"I'm sure you could've, but then I would've missed the opportunity to see that smile of yours again. You know the one you're trying so desperately to hide behind that frown." It took all of a moment for his frown to fade away, and a grin to replace it. "See that's the one I was talking about." With a smile, Raine laid a hand on his knee and pushed herself up into a standing position. "Father should be back shortly, so you should probably wait for him in the waiting room."

The Father was already waiting for Dean when he exited the exam room. The older man paced back and forth with a worried look on his face that gradually disappeared after he saw Dean. "How'd everything go, April Raine? Dominic's okay?"

"M'fine," Dean muttered, momentarily taken aback at how much concern he saw etched in the older man's features.

"You're sure?" Again the Father directed the comment toward Raine, although he kept his gaze on Dean.

"He's okay," Raine quickly assured. "Just told him to make sure he comes back here everyday so I can clean and change his bandages." She glanced at Dean and then refocused her attention on the Father. "Also if his ribs continue to bother him, I'm gonna want to do an x-ray."

"Alright, I'll make sure he stops by here tomorrow."

The Father pivoted and headed for the door, motioning for Dean to follow. Dean took up his steps behind the Father, following him through the courtyard. They stopped in front of another whitewashed brick building with a steeple atop it. Dean now realized this was where he's heard the bell sound coming from the day that he'd been branded, and thought it vaguely resembled a church.

"She's really beautiful, don't you think?" the Father asked as he looked back over his shoulder toward the medical clinic.

Dean was uncertain how he should respond. If he said the wrong thing the Father might get angry and send him back to the cellar, and now that he was out of there, he had no intention of ever going back. "Wasn't really lookin', Father."

"Sure you were," the Father playfully chided as he opened the door and entered the building. "Would have to be blind not to notice."

"Yeah, she was pretty," Dean finally conceded, and was somewhat surprised when the Father only smiled in response.

Dean stepped inside and peered around at the rows and rows of pews. Everything in the room from the cushions on the seats to the rug and curtains was a dark burgundy in color. In the front of the room, wide arching stairs led up to an altar, and behind the pulpit there was a stained glass image of the same cross and sickles that had been branded on Dean's arm. Lit candles flanked either side of the pulpit, and also lined the back wall beneath the stained glass.

"This is a church?"

"It's my church," the Father clarified. "An' now it's your church as well."

"Never been much of a believer."

"Don't worry, you will be. You just need someone to help guide you."

Dean strode down the aisle, his hand lightly brushing over the deep cherry wood trim of each pew. He took a seat on the steps leading up to the altar, and the Father joined him. For several minutes they sat in amicable silence, and then the Father cleared his throat, drawing Dean's attention to him.

"As your Father it is my duty to make certain decisions concerning your well-being, Dominic." From the pocket of his robe, he pulled out a plain gold band and handed it to Dean. "You are to give this to April Raine. She will be your wife."

"My . . . wha . . . huh?" Of all the things Dean thought the Father might say to him, he never in his wildest imagination believed the older man would tell him that he had to marry a girl he'd just met. "Don't even know her."

"It's already been decided." The Father's hawklike features hardened, eyes narrowing on Dean, daring him to defy the older man. "You will marry her tonight in my church."

Sweat beaded on the nape of Dean's neck and trickled down his back as his stomach began to churn in protest. It wasn't that he didn't like Raine. She was beautiful and smart and probably everything he could have ever hoped for in a woman he would marry, but she wasn't his choice. Although truthfully, he didn't really think it mattered if she had been his choice as the Father said it had already been decided.

"Wh-what if she says no."

"Believe me, she won't say no, Dominic." The Father's features softened as he gestured to the ring Dean was holding. "You deserve to be loved. You deserve a family. I just want you to be happy. April Raine can make you happy. She will be everything you could ever hope for in a wife." He hesitated for a moment to allow his words to sink in, before he added, "Let yourself be happy for a change, Dominic."

Dean mulled over everything the Father had said, wondering briefly if he'd ever allowed himself to be truly happy. He'd always given everything for everyone else. Yet he couldn't recall a time when what he needed had ever even been considered by those who supposedly cared about him. The Father cared about him, wanted him to be happy, so how could it be wrong to marry Raine if the older man asked him to. And in the end, Dean decided he wanted what the Father offered freely to him. He wanted a home and a family. He wanted to marry Raine, and if he didn't actually love her, he figured in time he would grow to have feelings for her.

Pocketing the ring, Dean smiled and gave a quick nod. "I'll ask her, Father."

"That's my boy."


	22. Chapter 22

_Sorry about the long delay, i've been really under the weather lately, and am finally feeling a little better...hopefully everyone is still enjoying the story...just to let everyone know, this story will cover the aftermath of all the brainwashing as i know what happened to the boys would never be a quick fix by any stretch of the imagination. thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Twenty-Two_

"What the hell are you firing at, Lucas?" Dean smirked as he readjusted Lucas's arms, and kicked the slightly older man's legs out a little further to the sides into a more relaxed position. "See that big circle with the bulls-eye marked on it . . . well, that's called a target. Most people try to aim for it."

"What part of bathroom attendant weren't you getting, Dominic?" Lucas held his breath, squeezed the trigger and squinched his eyes closed at the same time. His body jerked backward as the gun fired, and then he pried open one eyelid to see if he'd come even remotely close to hitting the target.

"For God's sake, don't shut your damn eyes when firing, an' try not holdin' your breath either." Dean snatched the gun out of Lucas's hand, cocked his head from side to side to loosen up, aimed and then fired repeatedly. One after another, the bullets hit the target dead-on center. "See, it's not hard to do. Just think of the gun as an extension of your hand, point and fire."

"Jus' not good with a gun, Dom." Lucas shrugged, looking somewhat disheartened. He nudged his head in the direction of one of their other brothers who was busy practicing with a firearm as well. "I'll never be as good as Markus. Father knows it. That's why I freakin' get stuck handing out towels and monitoring water instead of doing anything to protect the family."

"Markus really that good?" Dean watched as the taller man near the far end of the line of men practicing, fired his weapon at a tin can and hit it dead-on. The can flew upward into the air, and Markus fired three more times, hitting it twice before the battered can came to rest in the dirt. "Not bad," Dean was forced to admit, "but I've seen better."

"Really," Markus butted into the conversation, quirking an arrogant brow. "Cause I'm the best damn marksman here."

"Were the best," Dean rejoined, the challenge clearly evident in his tone.

"So you think you can beat me?" Markus strode to where Dean was standing, and they stood face to face, sizing each other up. "No one's ever beaten me."

"Guess that doesn't say much for the others then."

At the obvious insult, Lucas and their other brothers started laughing, and Dean was hard-pressed to keep a straight face himself.

"Alright, smart ass," Markus smirked as he gestured toward all the targets scattered in various locations, and then looked to Dean. "You beat me an' I'll take over doing Lucas's job for a week. But if you lose, you and Lucas get to be my servants for the week."

Dean thought about it for all of a moment before he nodded. "Okay. But when you lose, I want you to spend all your spare time out here with me teaching Lucas. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"'Kay, you go first," Dean took a step backward to allow Markus enough room, "the one who hits the most targets wins."

Several of their brothers stopped what they were doing and gathered to watch. Lucas pulled Dean off to the side, and then motioned to Markus.

"You sure you can win, Dom, cause I really don't want to be his servant for the week." A worried frown creased Lucas's forehead as he stared pensively at Dean. "Last time I made a bet with him, I ended up cleaning his boots with my toothbrush. Don't really wanna do that again."

"I got it, Lucas, don't worry." Even as Dean said this, his stomach churned in protest. He was beyond tired, sore, and firing the weapon a moment before hadn't helped matters. And from somewhere behind him, he could feel the weight of the Father's stare, and knew the older man was waiting to see Dean prove himself worthy.

Markus took aim, turned and smirked at Dean, and then refocused all his attention on hitting the targets. The blasts of gunfire echoed throughout the courtyard as Markus fired repeatedly. The strong scent of gun smoke lingered as tin cans flew haphazardly through the air. Glass bottles shattered as he picked them off one by one. When he was finished, he lowered his gun and turned to Dean.

"Missed two." Dean cocked a brow as he nudged his head toward the two cans Markus had failed to knock down. "Thought you were gonna at least try an' make it tough for me."

"Jus' take your turn, Dom, cause I got a lot of jobs for you both to do when you lose." Markus handed his gun to one of their brothers, and then crossed his arms and waited.

A shorter, younger man hurried to set up new targets for Dean to hit. He then ran back to stand beside Markus. Dean eyed up the targets for a moment, turned on his heel and moved further away from them. Lucas and the others followed. Dean stopped, peered back at the targets again, and moved even further away.

Lucas grabbed hold of his arm. "Dom, what the hell are you doin'?" he asked, quirking a puzzled brow. "You want to lose or somethin'?"

"Said I got it, Lucas." Dean smiled when Lucas cast him a look that clearly said he thought Dean was crazy. "Don't worry, been doin' this all my life."

Dean took a slow calming breath, his mind letting go of everything around him as he focused his attention solely on hitting the targets. A stiff breeze blew past him, and he adjusted his stance slightly to compensate for it. Squeezing the trigger, he fired repeatedly. Tin cans flew furiously through the air as he struck them all down. Glass shattered as bottles toppled to the ground. The last can zig-zagged through the air as Dean struck it repeatedly. He then lowered his gun, and the can fell to the ground.

Markus stood slack-jawed in disbelief that Dean had not only beaten him, but had made him look foolish in front of the others. Lucas chuckled as all the men gathered around Dean to congratulate him.

"Not bad, Dominic." Markus grudgingly stuck out his arm and shook Dean's hand.

"Not bad, Markus?" came the Father's voice from directly behind Dean. "It was excellent." He clapped and hand on Dean's shoulder, and when Dean turned to look at him, the Father was smiling approvingly. "I couldn't be any prouder of you, Dominic. Now if you could only teach the rest of my sons to shoot as well, I know our family would be well-protected."

"I will, Father," Dean assured, his own smile matching that of the Father's. He opened his mouth to say something more, but at that moment noticed Raine exiting the medical clinic, and lost train of his thoughts. "I-I have something I have to do." Dean handed his gun to Lucas, and headed toward Raine.

"Hey, Dominic," Raine called out to Dean as he approached her. "Your ribs bothering you," she hitched a thumb back over her shoulder, "we can go back inside so I can take a look at them."

"Naw . . . . " Dean's mouth suddenly went dry as he tried to think of just the right words to propose to her. His hands trembled so badly he was forced to jam them into his pockets so she wouldn't notice. With stomach flip-flopping violently in protested, he licked his lips and muttered, "Was just wonderin' . . . well, I was thinkin' maybe that we could . . . if you want to maybe we could . . . ." his voice trailed off as she stared at him in confusion. _This is gonna be a helluva lot harder than I thought._

"You hit your head or something?" A worried frown settled over her beautifully delicate features. "You don't look very good at all, Dominic. You're not gonna throw up are you?" she asked, concern evident in her tone. "Maybe we should go inside so you can lie down."

"No," Dean shook his head, feeling like a complete ass that he was botching his proposal to her so badly. "Think we could take a walk?"

"Sure," Raine said as she brushed the wispy windblown bangs out of her eyes. "Was just going to check on some of the little ones, but it can wait a bit."

Together they walked in silence toward the far back corner of the compound. Although most of the grounds were open and grassy, there was one area where a small forest of trees grew in abundance, and that was where Dean led her to. A winding brook cut a path through the woods, and disappeared from view as it wound snakelike around the trees. Birds overhead chirped happily, hidden from view in the upper branches of the oaks and maples. The gentle rush of water as it broke against the rocks had a calming effect on Dean's overly taut nerves, and he slowly began to relax in Raine's company.

"This is my very favorite place to come to," Raine said to break the almost unbearable silence. "It's so quiet and peaceful, and I can just sit and think. Have you ever had a place like this, Dominic? A place you can just go to an' put everything else behind you?"

"My car," Dean answered without the slightest hesitation. "When I'm behind the wheel, music blarin', the road stretching out endlessly ahead of me . . . that's my place."

"Seems like a lonely place." Raine smiled at him as she took a seat on an old fallen log, and he sat beside her. "Don't get me wrong, if you're happy with it, that's great. But here," she gestured around to everything that surrounded them, "everything is so alive, an' even when I'm alone I never feel that way."

"I was never alone in my car," Dean lowered his head as the thought of Sam briefly flashed through his mind, "at least I never thought I was. But I guess I was wrong."

"Father says that you are never so alone as when you're surrounded by people who can see that you're dying inside, an' refuse to send you a lifeline." She took a hold of Dean's hand and lightly traced her fingertips over his skin. "I can see in your eyes that you've been begging for someone to save you for the longest time, Dominic." Raine cupped a hold of Dean's chin and lifted it so he was looking her in the eyes. "You don't have to be alone anymore. Father loves you. Your brothers and sisters love you . . . I love you."

Without any given thought, Dean leaned in and lightly brushed his lips against Raine's. She hesitated briefly and then returned the kiss. As the kiss began to deepen, Dean felt Raine gently press her hand his chest, and then she pushed away from him.

"Sorry,"she said in a breathless whisper. "It's not allowed."

"I can't kiss you?" Dean asked, cocking a brow in confusion.

"Only married couples are allowed to kiss." Raine bit pensively at her lower lip as she glanced in the direction the compound. When she looked back at Dean, her gaze was instantly drawn to his mouth. "God, I'd forgotten how good it felt to kiss someone though."

"No one has to know," Dean softly coaxed as he leaned in again, and for a fleeting moment he almost believed she would give in to the desire he saw burning in her beautiful sea-green eyes. However, at the very last second possible she drew away from him and rose to stand.

"I would know, and I can't lie to Father." She turned to leave, but Dean grabbed hold of her hand, effectively stopping her.

"Marry me then."

At that, Raine swung back to stare at him. "You really must've hit your head." Raine chuckled, but when she saw he was serious, her eyes rounded in shocked surprise. "You can't be serious. We've only just met."

Dean dropped to one knee beside her. "Marry me, Raine. Tonight . . . cause I really want to kiss you again."

"You don't even know me, Dominic." She tried to untangle her hand from his, but his grip only tightened in response.

"I know all I need to know." He stood and wrapped his arm around her, drawing her closer to him. "You're kind. I can see it in your eyes." Dean gently swept his thumb across her cheek as he licked his lips. "You care. I've felt that in your touch." His fingers slipped through her hair, and he reveled in the silky feel of it. "You have a beautiful heart . . . an' I wanna make it my own. So please marry me."

"Damn, you." Raine pulled him closer, and lightly brushed her lips against his. "You just had to go an' make me all weak in the knees, didn't you? How can I possibly say no now?"

"So you'll marry me?" he asked, uncertain if what she'd said actually constituted as a yes.

"Yes, I'll marry you."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dean stayed with Raine as she checked on the children. As they entered the room where the younger children were, they all converged on Raine, nearly tackling her in their enthusiasm. Laughing, she dropped to the ground to play with them. Dean backed away, feeling a bit like an intruder, yet couldn't help but smile at the thought that they might someday have children together. And as he watched her lovingly share all her attention with each and every child, he realized how much he would like her to be the mother of his children.

He leaned back against a table and crossed his arms, content to just sit and watch her. While he waited for her, Dean noticed that the little boy with hazel eyes was staring at him. For a few moments they stood there looking at each other, and then the little boy headed over to him.

"Hey there, little guy." Dean smiled as he crouched to the boy's level. "What's your name?"

"J-Jared." Jared glanced over his shoulder toward the corner of the room, and Dean noticed the same wispy shadow as he had seen when he was there with the Father. He refocused his attention on Dean, then drew back his leg and kicked Dean in the knee. "An' yer a liar."

Dean winced as he nearly toppled over, but caught hold of the table and righted himself. He tried to grin but it came out more like a grimace as he rubbed his throbbing knee. "What the freakin' hell did I lie about?" he asked, throughly perplexed and more than just a little angry.

"Ya lied ta my Mommy." Tears slipped down Jared's face as he glanced back at the far corner wall. "Said ya'd protect her." He angrily swiped away the tears cascading down his cheeks. "Ya didn't."

"Don't even know who your mother is."

A sudden loud screeching cry pierced the room, windows shattering as a ghostly figure appeared directly in front of Dean. Eyes, incredibly blue, searched his intently, and then she shook her head as if she'd found him lacking in character.

She leaned in and whispered in a breathless voice, "Liar . . . ." Blood spilled from her mouth, and trickled down Dean's neck, soaking into his shirt. "You forgot me . . . forgot what they did."

"Shannon . . . I — "

"Dominic?" Raine tapped Dean on the shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Blinking rapidly, Dean peered around the room, and noticed Jared was busy playing with the other children. The three windows that flanked the western wall, were still intact as if they hadn't just shattered a few moments ago, and there was no sight of Shannon anywhere.

"Where'd she go?" Dean searched around again, but found no signs that Shannon had ever been there. "She . . . she was just here. Don't understand, the windows all broke, an' now there fine."

Raine knelt beside Dean, and took a hold of his hand. "There was no one here except us and the children, Dominic."

"But I saw her, she was standing right where you are now."

"I didn't see anyone." Raine stood and helped Dean to his feet. "Come on, lets go back to the clinic. You're still recovering and Father would be furious if I missed something."

Dean stood in confusion, feeling as if there was something he should be doing to rid himself of Shannon's spirit. Old life warred with the new, but as he glanced into Raine's caring eyes, he realized he didn't want that life back. He wanted what Raine offered. He wanted her. So he turned his back on the old, and took solace in the new.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

John had spent the better part of the morning scouting out the smaller of the two compounds. He skirted the entire perimeter, and had taken the time to map out the area near the ravine in great detail, determining that it would be the easiest access into the compound. Thick roots and ragged rocks jutted out of the ground in many areas, and he realized at night the trek would be a lot more hazardous, but was confident that it would still be manageable.

When he was satisfied that he hadn't left out any details, he headed back to the front of the compound. Wanting a better look at the inside of the compound, he climbed one of the larger maples, and sat in the crook of one of the highest boughs. Hidden from view in the upper branches of the trees, he made meticulous notes in his journal of exactly where the men were stationed and how often they changed guard.

With the use of binoculars, he'd seen Billy enter the bunker where they were keeping Sam, and not too long after he'd witnessed Dominic enter as well. It took every last ounce of sheer willpower he had not to scurry down from his perch and break into the compound on his own. But he knew if he did, he would be killing his youngest son, so he steeled himself, knowing the crazed man's time was coming to an end.

Not even ten minutes later, Dominic reemerged from the building, and John saw that the man had a firm hold on Billy's arm. John's grip tightened around the binoculars as he saw the Father push Billy toward her car. From where he sat, John could tell she was trying her damnedest to convince Dominic she wasn't doing anything wrong, and must have finally persuaded him as the older man let her get in her car and drive away.

John expelled the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding, and climbed down from the tree, intent on following Dominic back to the larger of the two compounds. Darting back to his truck through the maze of trees and shrubs, John finally reached his vehicle. He followed Dominic at a considerable distance, and turned off about a mile or so before the compound. After he'd made sure his vehicle was well hidden from view, John took off on foot, heading for the encampment.

Over the past few days, he had covered every trail leading in and out of the area, and had mapped out the most well-worn paths. He'd also taken a head count of everyone entering and exiting the main gate, and estimated that there was at least as many men in the camp as Billy had warned. He'd also had taken note of the women inside the compound, not about to underestimate any one of them as a possible threat.

He forged his way through the thick overgrown forest, and easily found the gnarled old tree he'd been using to scout out the inner workings of the compound. From where he was standing, he heard the distinct sound of guns firing. John glanced at his watch, and mentally noted that everyday at around this same time, most of the men in camp target practiced. From what he'd witnessed so far, however, he wasn't all that impressed. Sure, there were some who hit the targets nearly every time, but they were the minority. Yet, he wasn't about to let that lull him into a false sense of security. Any man who held a weapon in hand had the potential to get it right at least once, and he didn't want to be on the wrong side of that bullet.

Grabbing hold of a low lying branch, John pulled himself upward. From branch to branch, he made his way to the top of the tree, and then settled himself into a wide crook in the bough. John yanked out his binoculars and adjusted them into focus. Right away John spotted Dominic, his crimson robes standing out amidst a sea of black jeans and t-shirts. The older man stood back, intently watching his little army of men with a look of confidence and something akin to pride plastered across his hawkish features.

John shifted his position slightly and watched the men target practicing with utmost interest. A slight wave of apprehension settled firmly in John's stomach as he spotted a younger man who was busy training the others to shoot their weapons. There was a subtle air of confidence to his mannerisms and stance, and from what John could determine, the man really understood how to teach someone to use a gun.

John narrowed his eyes on the bald-headed man, and watched intently as he and another taller man faced off. After an exchange of words, John saw the taller man take aim then fired repeatedly at the targets, and cursed under his breath when the man hit all but two of them. Not to be outdone by the taller man, the younger man moved further away from the targets, glanced back and then moved even further away.

The sound of gunfire echoed through the forest as the man fired his weapon repeatedly, and blew away every singe target. Apprehension quickly turned to a lead weight in the pit of John's stomach as he realized that this man was every bit his equal with a firearm.

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Where the hell did that freakin' guy come from? _John was certain that the younger man hadn't been there before today. He would have remembered someone like him. But from what he was now witnessing through his binoculars, the younger man was a definite favorite of Dominic's. _How the hell am I suppose to ask Bobby and the others to risk their lives when I know damn well that he can out-shoot all of them?_ Raking his fingers through his shaggy hair, John mulled over his options as he watched the younger man walk away from the other men, and head toward a dark-haired woman._ I'm just gonna have to make sure he never gets the chance to hurt anyone . . . can't hurt anyone if he's dead._


	23. Chapter 23

_Thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Twenty-Three_

John entered the small motel room that he'd been sharing with Bobby only to find the place so crowded with hunters that there was barely enough space to move around_. _The round table near the door had become a command center of sorts, and Ash was sitting there, busily typing away at his computer, searching for any information he could dig up on the cult that had taken Sam and Dean. Like Sam, Ash really knew his way around computers, and could usually find things others would simply overlook, and John was grateful that the younger man had agreed to help out.

Bobby was standing next to the wall, quietly talking to a medium built, golden-brown haired woman. Although she wasn't facing John, he instantly recognized her as Ellen Harvelle, and a deep scowl lit across his features.The last thing he needed right nowwas another confrontation with Ellen. Their last meeting was anything but amicable_, _and he seriously doubted that she'd forgiven him for what had happened to her husband Bill. It wasn't as if he blamed her for her anger, and a large part of himself felt it was well-deserved, but he just couldn't deal with another knock-down dragged out argument with her at the moment when his boys were in the hands of some lunatic.

With a slight nod toward Bobby, John turned to look at more familiar faces. Pastor Jim was sitting on the arm of the worn out old sofa, cleaning and checking his weapons. When he noticed John, the pastor gave him an encouraging smile and a determined nod that clearly said, we're gonna get your boys back or die trying.

Steve Wondell,who John had once saved from a shapeshifterwhile on a hunt in Minnesota, busied himself checking over the night vision gearand gas masks they would need later that night. John watched for a moment as the middle-aged man meticulouslyinspected all the gear and then moved on to check the tear gas canisters they would need to use to gain access into the inside of the compound.

John made eye contact with his longtime friend Deacon. An ex-marine turned police officer, Deacon could probably outgun most of the men in the room. It had taken some convincing on John's part to get Deacon there, and knew he would owe him big time for his help, but if he was going into battle there wasn't anyone more qualified than Deacon to be by his side.

Deacon brushed past John, and bobbed his head toward the door the eldest Winchester had just come through_, _and John started to turn on his heel to follow, but his stern gaze strayed and lingered on a younger hunter leisurely stretched out on John's bed. The young dark skinned man was busy sharpening his blade, but glanced up for a second and their eyes locked. There was a fierce darkness about the man's gaze that gave John pause.

It took all of a second for John to realize the man was a loose cannon, and wondered what he was doing there. Detouring over to where Bobby was standing, John nudged his head in the younger man's direction.

"Who's that?" he asked Bobby pointedly, dismissing Ellen's presence all together.

"He came with me," came Ellen's husky, sultry voice, and John's attention was diverted to her. "Owed me a favor an' I called him on it."

"Doesn't answer who he is or what the hell you're doin' here for that matter." John held her gazed briefly then lowered his head as the image of Bill dying slammed full force into his mind. "What're you doin' here anyway? I didn't call ya."

"Bobby called," Ellen replied as she crossed her arms, a gesture that almost dared him to argue with her about it. "Said your boys were in trouble."

"Nothin' I can't handle." He pointed toward the door, and she looked at it for a moment before refocusing her attention on him. "Think you should leave."

"Don't be a pig-headed stubborn ass, John," Bobby cut in, once more the voice of reason in the Winchesters' lives. "We've gone over those damn maps about a hundred times now, an' no matter how ya look at it, we needed more help."

"So you called her knowing," John wavered as a wave of guilt washed over him, and he couldn't quite meet Ellen's intent gaze, "you should've asked me first."

"An' you would've said no." A spark of fire lit in Ellen's eyes, old anger mingling with new. "Look, I know we've had our differences, but if something ever happened to my daughter Jo, you'd be the first one there to help out. An' I'm not about to let anything happen to your boys either. So that means you've only got one option here, an' that's to swallow that damn bullheaded Winchester pride for a moment an' admit you're happy to see me."

"Who's that guy?" John hitched a thumb over his shoulder, quickly changing the subject, not about to admit that he needed her help, although he knew Bobby was right in calling her. "Never saw him before."

"Name's Gordon Walker," Ellen replied as she nudged her head in Gordon's direction, "probably the best damn vampire hunter I've ever met."

"An' you trust him?" John quirked a brow, not the least bit impressed by how good a hunter Ellen thought Gordon was. He'd met a lot of hunters in his time, and his gut always told him which ones were dangerous, and there was just something about the deadened look in the younger hunter's eyes that had the acid in John's stomach working on overdrive.

"Didn't say that," Ellen's brows pulled together as she narrowed her eyes on Gordon, "normally would say to steer clear of him, but he's good, John. Real good," she reiterated as she made a wide sweeping gesture toward all the other hunters in the room. "Probably a helluva lot better than most of these guys here. He's young and strong, but most of all, he's very smart."

"If he's so damn good then how come he owes you a favor?"

"That's between me and him, but let's just say it's a big enough favor that he's willing to put his neck on the line for you, and leave it at that."

John was about to argue, but knew if she didn't want him to know, then he wouldn't know. It was really as simple as that. Harvelle pride and determination could rival Winchesters' any day of the week, Ellen had proven that much to him many times over.

"Bobby, I have to go over to the bank to talk to Billy." John scrubbed his hand through his beard as he thought of the danger he was putting the young girl in. He'd witnessed firsthand how terrified she was of Dominic, and yet she still had put her life on the line to help save his boys. In his life there had been very few people who had earned his trust and respect without question, and doubted there ever would be many. But Billy had earned that right, and he vowed to protect her as if she was one of his own.

"Alright," Bobby said with a curt nod, "I'm gonna take a few of the guys an' head up to the compound. Wanna scout it out a little more before tonight. Make sure we have all our bases covered."

"'Kay, I'll meet ya up there after I get done talkin' to Billy."

John headed outside where he knew Deacon was waiting for him. It only took John a moment to spot his longtime friend and strode to where he was standing. Deacon had the maps of both compounds laid out on the hood of John's truck, and was studying them carefully. A deep sigh escaped him as he trailed his finger over the ravine that ran behind the smaller of the two compounds. He then turned his attention to the larger of the two fortified dwellings, and shook his head in frustration.

"John, we've been friends for a long time, right?" Deacon asked, tilting his head slightly to look at John.

"Yeah," John slowly replied, not liking the sound of Deacon's tone or the look in his friend's eyes.

"Then I ain't gonna bullshit ya, here. We go after Sam first, an' we're gonna get our asses handed to us."

"Sam's in worse shape. We got to get him out first, then we'll go after Dean," John staunchly replied. "It's what Dean would want."

"All due respect, but I don't give a rat's ass what Dean would want." Deacon jabbed his finger at the compound Dean was being held captive at, and further added, "You were a freakin' marine for God's sake, John. Try an' remember that for a minute. First an' foremost when at war you always take out the bigger threat first."

"We're talkin' about my boys here, an' I say we save Sam first."

"Then I guess I'm the voice of reason at the moment cause I'm the only one here lookin' at the big picture." Deacon turned to John, and shook his head. "You're so damn wrapped up in this, you've become a liability, an' I'm not prepared to die for your foolish pride." Jabbing his finger into John's chest, Deacon's voice rose in anger and frustration as he added, "You've got two sons . . . two of them. Try thinking like they both might need your help for a change."

"I am thinking of both my boys." John pushed Deacon's hand away from him. His fists furiously clenched and unclenched as Deacon's not so subtle implication that he would chose one son over the other settled into brain. "You don't think I realize the risk of taking out the smaller compound first? Think I haven't studied all the options?"

"Then you know I'm right." Deacon took a step closer to John, meeting his glare head on. "See, your problem is that somewhere in the back of that thick skull of yours, you still see Sam as the little baby you thrust into Dean's arms to save. Always needing to be protected . . . sheltered. But what you've failed to see all along is the little four-year-old boy who needed someone to save him too. An' I'm not about to let him get left behind again."

"You don't know what the hell you're talkin' about," John shouted, heat rising to flush his face. Anger swiftly turning to rage, John stared long and hard at Deacon. If it had been anyone else saying what Deacon had just said, John would have already slammed his fist into the man's face.

"I've always looked out for both my boys."

"Keep tellin' yourself that, John. Someday you might actually believe it," Deacon smoothly countered. "Cause I gotta tell ya, actions speak louder than words, an' you're killin' Dean with yours."

"Billy said Sam would die if we didn't get him out of there soon. An' that was a couple of days ago."

"An' I'm tellin' ya that they both will die if we go after Sam first." Deacon splayed his hand out in a sweeping motion over both maps. "For Christ sake, just look at the freakin' maps, an' then tell me I'm wrong."

Grudgingly, John looked over the maps again, knowing no more now than what he'd known all along. Deacon was right. But he also remembered the look in Billy's eyes when she said Sam wasn't going to make it if they waited too much longer to rescue him, and couldn't put that thought out of his mind. She'd made it very clear that Dean was in much better shape than Sam, and no matter how John looked at it, he needed to get to Sam first.

"What if they were your boys?" John asked as he trailed his finger over the underground bunker he knew Dominic was keeping Sam held prisoner in, and then looked to his friend. "What if you knew one of them was dying, and needed you to be there freakin' yesterday to save him. Wouldn't you rescue him first if you could?"

"If it were my sons, I'd be looking to you to take charge of this cause I'd be leading with my heart, too." Deacon placed a reassuring hand on John's shoulder, and gave a wry smile. "An' yeah, I'd be making the same damn mistakes as you're makin' right now. So I guess all I'm askin' is that you give this a lot of thought before you get us all killed."

"You really think I'm makin' a mistake don't you?"

"I think you're doing just what anyone in your position would do. An' I'm not saying it's wrong to feel the way you do, but it would be wrong of me not to make you understand that we need to save Dean first."

John thought about all his friend had said, and knew Deacon had only his sons' best interests at heart, and yet still he hesitated. Dean would never forgive him if anything happened to Sam. His eldest son had always put Sam's life first, and John knew a large part of that was his own fault. He'd always told Dean it was his job to protect Sam, but what he'd always failed to say was that Dean's life was every bit as important to him as Sam's. He'd failed his eldest in so many ways, and Deacon was right, Dean needed rescuing. Had needed it for the longest time.

"Alright, Deacon. I'll think about doing it your way."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"What do you mean you have to rescue Dean first?" Billy nearly shouted, blue eyes sparkling with fury. She glanced in the direction of her office door, cursed under her breath, and then lowered her voice, "Told you he was in better shape than Sam. You have to save Sam first . . . you have to."

The desolation in her tone tore at John's heart, and he realized now what he'd failed to see before. Billy loved Sam. She loved him and was absolutely terrified that he was dying. He knew that to explain to her about the tactical advantage of taking out the larger of the two compounds first would mean nothing to her. All Billy would see was that he was choosing the healthier of his two sons to save first, and in her mind that was utterly and completely wrong.

"Billy, you have to understand that I don't like this any better than you do," John tried to explain the situation the best he could under the circumstances. "I just don't have enough men for a simultaneous strike, so I have to take out the larger threat first. If I don't, I risk losing both my boys. Sam would understand that."

"How can you be so sure?" Billy argued, "You haven't seen him. You have no idea what he's suffered through. He needs you, and he was right, you don't even care."

Billy couldn't have hurt John worse if she had plunged a knife into his heart, and the sad truth was that Sam probably didn't think John cared. Hell, when his youngest son told him he was going to go to college, John had told him if he walked out the door then don't bother ever coming back. Of course he had been angry at the time, but that still didn't excuse what he'd said. It didn't even come close to explaining it. But even so, he still believed he knew Sam would understand his actions now. With all the training he'd given his boys, John was certain Sam would see the absolute logic in his plan to rescue Dean first.

"I know my boy, he would want me to save Dean first. He would understand I would be risking more lives if I rescued him first."

"You know your son, huh?" Billy gave a curt nod as she pushed back her seat and rose to stand to her full height. She stalked around the desk and came to stand within mere inches of John and looked him square in the eyes. "Then I guess you would know that he is hooked on heroin, right?" She hesitated a moment to allow those damning words to sink in, and then continued onward. "An' since you know him so well, I am assuming you also know he was beaten severely with a chain whip?"

John swallowed hard against the acrid bile rising in his throat, upon hearing all his youngest had suffered. Tears welled in his eyes, but he steeled himself, refusing to let his emotions cloud his judgement on the matter. Deacon was right. To save both his boys, he needed to take out the bigger threat first. He opened his mouth to say something, but Billy cut him off.

"An' then there is also that little nasty business of Father ripping out all Sam's fingernails with a knife . . . but you know what," she paused again as she headed for the door, opened it and gestured for him to leave, "I think he'll understand just fine. So go an' save Dean, an' I'll find a way to help Sam."

John stalked to where she was standing, and stopped just short of walking out the door. She crossed her arms, and glared defiantly at him, not about to back down, and reluctantly he was forced to admire her courage. He could see in her eyes that she'd meant every word she'd said. She would save Sam herself or die trying, and he liked her all the more for it.

"Billy, I promise you that I'll get both Sam and Dean out of there tonight," John solemnly vowed, hoping she would see the sincerity in his words. "Jus' please don't do anything that is going to get my son killed. I know he doesn't think I care . . . hell, I've given him more than enough reason to believe that. But my sons mean everything to me . . . they're all I've got left . . . so I'm beggin' ya not to anything foolish."

Tears slipped down Billy's cheeks as she took hold of John's hand, and he felt her tremble. She conceded with a single nod, and wrapping her arms around him, she began to cry in earnest. "Please, just don't let him die . . . jus' don't think I could stand it if he did."

"I promise, Billy . . . cause I couldn't live with myself if he died." John gently pushed away from her and strode out the door before he lost total control of his not so tightly leashed emotions.


	24. Chapter 24

_so, a really long time in coming, but so begins the rescue of the boys...thanks for reading and for all the really awesome reviews!! lol...i guess i should mention that if you don't want to wait for future chapters of this story, you can also read it on supernaturalville as I am up to chapter 35 on that site...yeah, long story as it really goes into details of both boys recovery...again thanks for reading!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Twenty-Four_

John sat in the cab of his truck studying the map of the larger of the two compounds. Ash sat beside him, busily typing away on his laptop, and hadn't spoken a word to John in the longest time. Every once in a while, the younger man would let out a low audible groan, look up and glance around at their surroundings then immerse himself in his computer once more. Finally a slow grin spread across his features as he pointed at the screen.

"Got it, John," His grin deepened as he glanced in John's direction. "Just say the word an' I'll cut the power."

"How about cell phones?"

"Not a problem, traced Dominic's cell phone back to his provider, an' can take out the cell tower whenever you give the word."

"What about regular phones?"

Ash gave a quick nod as he stifled a yawn. "Yep, got it all covered in spades, so quit worryin'." Stretching, Ash leaned back in his seat, rubbed his tired red-rimmed eyes, then went back to his research. "Seems as if Dominic had a daughter named Shannon who went missing not to long ago." He turned the computer screen toward John, and then continued, "Authorities have been searching for her and presume that she's dead. Apparently she was gonna turn over evidence against her father about all his cult activities before she went missing."

The moment John looked at the picture of the young girl, he drew in a sharp breath as he realized he had seen her before. "I've seen her before . . . she was with Dean. Said he was protecting her, an' I just assumed it was from something supernatural . . . I never thought, I mean . . . after she was gone he never brought her up again."

"Guess that explains this," Ash clicked on another screen and a picture of Dean and Shannon getting into the Impala came into focus. "Seems as if Dean's wanted in questioning for her disappearance."

John cursed under his breath as he stared at the picture of his son. The image on the screen was grainy at best and only a side profile of Dean, but the Impala was unmistakable. "So he went after my boys out of revenge for what happened to his daughter."

"Looks like it."

"Well, he's gonna wish to hell he never had." Letting out a deep sigh, John grabbed his long-range walkie-talkie off the dashboard, and jabbed the button on the side to talk to Bobby. "Bobby, where are you?" he asked as he narrowed his eyes on the place where he knew the compound was located although he couldn't see it through the overgrowth of trees.

Within a few minutes, Bobby responded. "Back side of the compound. Got a couple of guys up in the trees, scouting out the inside of the place. Not much activity goin' on from what they've reported. Guard just changed like twenty minutes ago."

"Alright, I'll head that way." John turned back to Ash, "You stay here and see what else you can dig up about Dominic." He got out of his vehicle and followed the trail he'd become so familiar with over the past few days. Raising the walkie-talkie to his mouth again, he clicked the button, "Any sign of Dominic?"

"Yeah," Bobby's voice came back over the walkie-talkie, "saw him head into a building that looked kinda like a church not more than a half hour ago."

"Any one with him?"

"Yeah, one of his men and there was a woman with them." Bobby was silent for a few moments, and then his voice came over the walkie-talkie again, "Just checked in with Gordon an' he said that a lot more people just headed into the church."

John glanced at his watch and a deep scowl settled across his features. "What the hell are they doin'? They've kept to the same routine all week, like freakin' clockwork. Damn it, Something's going on inside there." Picking up his pace, John hit the button on the walkie-talkie again, this time to talk to Gordon. "Gordon, what the hell's happening in there? What are the guards doing?"

Within a few moments, Gordon responded, "Guards are still standing post, but everyone else seems to be headin' for the church."

"Think they know we're coming?" In the distance, John could hear the sound of bells chiming, and set off at a dead-run toward the back of the compound. "Gordon, what the hell was that?"

"It was the bell in the steeple, but I don't think they suspect anything. They haven't heightened the guard, an' everything seems to be fairly calm inside the compound."

"Bobby," John called to his long time friend, and within a few seconds Bobby's voice came over the walkie-talkie.

"Yeah, John?"

"It's gonna be dark soon, everyone in place in case we have to go in early?"

"Got everyone covering the perimeter. Crossbows at the ready, just waitin' for your word. Pastor Jim took a few men to the front side of the wall, an' is waiting there. Jus' got to get that front gate open."

"Where's Deacon?" John narrowed his eyes and saw the compound coming into view.

"Here, John," Deacon cut in over the walkie-talkie, "Jus' made a final sweep of the area. Gonna be heading over to the section of wall that is crumbling in a moment."

"How hard is it gonna be to get that front gate open once we're inside?" John stopped short as a wave of fear overwhelmed him at the huge risk everyone was taking to help him save his boys. His stomach churned violently at the thought that many of his friends might die tonight, and it would be all his fault, but he vehemently pushed aside those dire thoughts. _No one's gonna die . . . not here, not tonight. I'll make damn sure of it._ "We gotta get that gate open."

"It'll be open," came Gordon's overly-confident voice, "I'll see to it myself."

John hesitated for a moment as he glanced toward the front of the compound, and narrowing his eyes he searched for any sign of his men, but saw no one. "Jim," he called over the walkie-talkie, "is the front of the compound secure?"

Within a matter of seconds, Pastor Jim's reassuring voice came back over the walkie-talkie, "No one's leaving here, John. Got men up in the trees, crossbows aimed directly at the gate. You just get those gates open, an' everything will go as planned."

"They'll be open." John shielded his eyes, and looked toward the western sky. The sun was beginning to set on the horizon. Before long it would be dark enough to put their plans in motion, and from what he could tell all his men were ready to attack the compound, but still he worried that he was missing something that would cost someone their life. He hesitated for a moment with his thumb on the button of the walkie-talkie as he thought of Ellen, and then pressed the button down. "Ellen, you there?"

"Yeah, John," came Ellen's voice over the walkie-talkie.

"Want you to go back to my truck an' wait there with Ash. Jo needs you, an' I'm not about to be the cause of anymore pain in your family."

"Thanks for the concern, John, but it's not gonna happen. Didn't come all the way here to wait in your truck."

"Don't argue with me on this, Ellen, want you back at the truck now," he tried again although he knew it was pointless. She'd made up her mind and once decided there was no way he was going to sway her thoughts on the matter.

"Can handle myself, John. Not goin' anywhere."

"Figured you'd say that, but had to try." John rounded the bend in the wall, narrowed his eyes and spotted the area hidden in the brush where he knew Bobby would be. He headed over to what they had determined would be the command center, and found Bobby, Deacon and Ellen waiting for him.

"So," he nudged his head toward the encampment, "any idea what's going on inside there?"

"Not sure." Deacon gave a quick shake of his head then returned to studying the map of the compound. "Looks like most of Dominic's followers are congregating in the church at the moment," he added without looking up, "but from what Billy told you and from what I see on the map, there's no weapons inside there."

"Alright, it'll be dark in about another half hour then Ash can cut the power an' we can move in." John squinted, focusing his attention on the trees off to the right, and although he could see nothing, he knew Gordon along with several other hunters were high aloft in the branches of the maples and oaks. "Have Gordon keep an eye out for any more strange activity going on inside there, an' tell him to report anything suspicious immediately."

"Gotcha, John," Bobby replied, and quickly relayed the request to Gordon.

"Let's go over everything one more time," John said as he looked over Deacon's shoulder at the maps his friend held in his hands. "No room for errors. Everything has to run like clockwork."

"It will," Deacon assured, and with taut nerves they all settled in for the short wait.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Inside the church, Dean stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for the Father to call him forward. He glanced over his shoulder and noticed that nearly everyone of his brothers and sisters were sitting in the pews, quietly awaiting the wedding. Several of the women gave him reassuring smiles, and he grinned in return before refocusing his attention on the Father and Raine.

Dean's steady gaze drifted over the Father and settled firmly on Raine. In a simple white dress trimmed in delicate lace, and a wreath of white roses and baby's breath in her hair, she radiated innocence and beauty, and Dean found himself held captivated by the warmth and love her saw in her eyes.

"Dominic, " the Father gestured for Dean to come and stand beside Raine, and without reservation Dean complied.

Dean took hold of Raine's hand and felt her tremble, and when he glanced in her eyes again, noticed they were shimmering with unshed tears. A hard knot formed in his throat as his stomach began to churn in protest. He leaned into her, his hand tightening around hers as he whispered in her ear, "Swear to God, I'll do my damnedest to make you happy, Raine. Please don't cry." He gently caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. "Jus' wanna make you happy, so please don't cry."

"All brides are supposed to cry, Dominic." Raine lightly brushed her lips against Dean's in a soft kiss before she looked him in the eyes and smiled. "I'm crying because I'm happy."

The Father wrapped a silver piece of cording around both Dean and Raine's hands, binding them together. "In life there are many uncertainties, but the sanctity of marriage and the love of our family is not one of them. Dominic and Raine are to be husband and wife because it is my will that they should do so." He tied the cording in a knot, then glanced up at Dean and a smile of pure acceptance graced his hawkish features. "Dominic is my child. My blood . . . my own."

The candles at the back of the altar flickered as a chilled breeze swept through the room. The temperature in the room plummeted as a gust of cold air extinguished all the candles in the church. From behind Dean, he heard a soft mournful cry as a murmuring rose up through the crowd gathered in the church, and although all his years of hunting told him something was definitely wrong, he chose to ignore it.

"It's always been a bit drafty in here." The Father forced a smile as he glanced toward the far back corner of the room. He narrowed his eyes for a moment, a look of panic overwhelming his features for a brief moment before he smiled again and refocused his attention on Dean and Raine. "My son. From this day forward, you are of my blood. My firstborn, my child. I have given you my name so all will know that you are my child and well loved." He took both Dean and Raine's bound hands in his own and raised them in the air. "Dominic, my son, I give to you April Raine as a gift. She will be your wife from this moment forward, and bear you many fine sons as is her duty." The Father looked to Raine, his eyes narrowing on her. "April Raine, it is your job to make my son happy, to give him many children, and to make sure he wants for nothing. Do you understand this?"

Raine held the Father's gaze for a moment and then lowered her head. Tears slipped down her cheeks as her smile faltered. "I do, Father."

The Father turned his attention to Dean. "Dominic, my son, I give to you April Raine as your wife. She is yours from this day forward as is my command. She will make a fine wife for you. Do you accept her?"

As Dean listened to the demeaning way the Father spoke of Raine and her role in their marriage, it was on the tip of his tongue to say no. But Raine looked to him then and mouth the words, '_please, Dominic',_ and he gave a curt nod. "I do, Father."

"Then I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."

Dean turned to Raine, gently cupped her chin in his hand and lightly brushed his lips against hers. "I'll make you happy, Raine," he breathed against her lips. "I want nothing more than to make you happy."

The lights overhead flickered then dimmed as the shudders outside banged hard against the outer walls. Another low wailing cry filled the room, and the room was cast into complete darkness for a moment before the lights came back on.

The Father glanced at the light fixtures with a puzzled frown on his face. "Must be a storm coming." He raised his hands to quiet the murmuring of his children, and they immediately went silent. "Everyone is to return to their rooms while I see to it that extra guards are posted." As the Father gestured for Raine and Dean to lead the way, the lights went out and stayed that way. "Dominic you will share Raine's room."

"Yes, Father," Dean said, and led Raine down the stairs and through the long aisle toward the door.

Their hands still bound together, Raine turned slightly and opened the door with her free hand. Just outside the entrance, she stopped, looked Dean in the eyes and smiled. Biting at her lower lip, she gently trailed her fingers across his cheek. "Just want you to know that I think you'll make a wonderful husband. An' I couldn't be any happier than I am now."

She leaned and kissed him, her lips parting as her tongue gently explored his mouth. Dean wrapped his free arm around her and pulled her closer to him, reveling in the soft feel of her body against his. As the kiss deepened, Dean wrapped his arm more firmly around her waist, and felt her suddenly jerk forward as the sound of gunfire ripped through the night air.

"D-Dominic," she gasped as she slumped against him. Tear cascaded down her cheeks as she struggled to catch her breath. "I . . . i-it h-hurts . . . ."

"Raine!" Dean ran his hand along her back, pulled it away and cried out as he saw his fingers were covered in her blood. "God, no! No. No. No. No. No. . . . Raine . . . please no . . . ." Quickly yanking free of the bind tied around thier wrists, Dean crumpled to the ground with Raine in his arms.

Blood bubbled on Raine's lips and trickled a path down her chin as she glanced up at Dean. Her eyelids slowly fluttered closed then open as she tried to draw in a shaky breath. "S-sorry, D-Dominic . . . sh-shoulda had m-more time," a faint smile lit across her features as she gently caressed Dean's cheek, and he leaned his face into her hand. "C-coulda been h-happy . . . y-you an' me . . . ."

"You're gonna be okay, R-Raine . . . ." the words caught in Dean's throat as tears slipped down his cheeks. "Jus' got to get to you to a hospital an' you'll be f-fine."

"N-no . . . jus' h-hold me . . . pl-please jus' don't let go."

"I won't let go," Dean pulled her closer to him, and brushed his lips against her forehead, "I'll take care of you . . . k-keep you safe. Y-you jus' rest, an' I won't let go. . . ." Raine's body spasmed and then went completely still beneath Dean's protective embrace. "No . . . oh, God, please, no . . . Raine, please don't die on me . . . ." More tears fell unchecked as Dean narrowed his eyes on the wall surrounding the compound, fierce anger and hatred welling inside of him as he saw several men wielding guns making their way into the courtyard.

With a curt nod, Dean gathered Raine up in his arms, and carried her back inside the church, and laid her body down on the altar. He gently brushed her hair aside and kissed her lightly on the lips. "You rest here, Raine . . . you jus' rest," he hugged her to his chest, "gonna protect you . . . gonna kill whoever hurt you . . . gonna kill them all."


	25. Chapter 25

_So, new chappy...now begins the rescue of Sam and Dean...a long time in coming I know!! Hopefully i will do it some measure of justice!! let me know what you think!! thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Twenty-Five_

"It's time, John," Deacon announced in a grim tone, and everyone present nodded in silent agreement.

John grabbed his walkie-talkie off a boulder he had set it on, and jabbed the call button with his thumb. "Gordon, have they come out of the church yet?"

After a few moments of static coming over the walkie-talkie, Gordon finally responded, "Still there . . . noticed the lights flicker inside the church a moment ago, but otherwise everything seems normal."

"Alright, want you back here now," John ordered in a no-nonsense mannered, "Gonna have Ash cut the power, and the second he does I want you over that wall and heading for the front gate."

"On my way."

John glanced in the direction of Deacon, Bobby, and Ellen, saw that they were going over last minute preparations, then jabbed the button on his walkie-talkie again to talk to Pastor Jim. "Jim, you there?"

"Yeah, John," Jim immediately responded.

"The moment the power's cut have your men ready to attack. Want to take out as many of the guards as possible before we move in." John hesitated for a moment, thinking of his long time friend, then added, "Be careful, Jim, an' only use deadly force if absolutely necessary."

"Will do, John." Pastor Jim was silent for a moment, and John understood the conflicting emotions the man of God must have been feeling at the moment. "Should be able to take out quite a few of them with crossbows before you're even inside, an' the tear gas should pretty much impair the ones we don't get."

"Alright, five minutes till the power's cut, prepare your men," John commanded, reverting to his military training, and pushing any personal feelings back to the furthest niches of his mind. "The second the lights go out, order the attack. Understood?"

"Gotcha," Jim replied, without hesitation.

The second John finished talking to Jim, he immediately called to Ash. "Ash, cut the power."

"Already a step ahead of ya, John," Ash called back over the walkie-talkie, "cells and phones are already down, an' in about five seconds the lights should be cut as well."

"Good, we'll be ready. Thanks, Ash."

"Not a problem."

"John," Deacon called out, then nudged his head in the direction of a grouping of trees, and John saw Gordon making his way through them. "Wind's kickin' up an' the clouds are movin' in, possible storm headin' this way. Could be a problem with the tear gas."

John glanced toward the trees, noticed them bending low in the stiff breeze, and felt his bangs ruffle as the chilled wind blew past him. Yet, he didn't have time to worry about an impending storm or the tear gas dissipating quicker than anticipated as the lights inside the compound went out. "Move out," he ordered, gathered his weapons and stalked to the crumbled section of the wall.

Gordon was the first through the narrow, fallen section of wall, followed quickly by John, Deacon, Bobby, and Ellen. With guns at the ready, Gordon sprinted toward the front gate, firing his weapon and at anyone who crossed his path. He was soon lost in the shuffle as members of the cult rushed out of the church, heading for cover.

The sound of gunfire ripped through the night, and John glanced in the direction of the church, saw a woman jerk forward and fall hard against one of Dominic's men and John cursed under his breath. The man holding onto her dropped to the ground with her in his arms, and glanced in the direction of John's men now making their way through the section of crumpled wall. Then amidst the chaos, the younger man picked up the girl's lifeless body, cradled her to his chest and retreated back inside the church he had just exited.

More gunfire reverberated through the air as the guards engaged in battle with John's men. Screams of terrified women and children almost enshrouded the sounds of gunfire as they rushed toward the main building.

"Weapon's shed," John shouted to Deacon, and motioned to the small wooden shelter off to the right. "Take it out before they can get to it." Without taking time to wait for a response, John rushed toward the second of the two weapon storage areas, grabbed a grenade from his vest pocket, pulled the pin and launched it at the building.

He spun on his heel, and sprinted away, but didn't make it very far before the blast from the explosion threw him a good ten feet in the air. John landed with a hard thud as another explosion rocked the earth, fire lighting up the sky as explosives inside the shed ignited and exploded. John lurched to the side as a piece of splintered wood thrown from the building, sliced through his upper arm. More pieces of wood and burning debris rained down from the sky, and mindless of his injury John quickly scrambled to his feet and ducked for cover as the heated bullets from inside the burning shed exploded.

Within a few minutes several more explosions echoed through the night as the first of the two weapon sheds went up in flames. Narrowing his eyes, John spied Deacon running toward the front gate, then swung on the spot to find Bobby and Ellen.

"Shit," he swore under his breath when he saw two men trying to get the generator working. He didn't see Bobby or Ellen anywhere in the crowd, but knew he didn't have to look for them. He needed to make sure the power remained out of commission. With one last quick glance around, he darted toward the generator.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dean listened as a blast rocked the church, the bell in the tower overhead clanging loudly as the explosion caused it to rock to an fro. As if in a trance, he slowly stood, walked to the back of the altar and began lighting the candles one by one until every single candle was lit. His head fell back on his shoulders, and he looked up at the cross and sickles adorning the wall as he unconsciously rubbed the mark branded on his arm.

"Dominic," came the Father's voice from behind Dean, and Dean swung to look at him. "Your family needs you," from the pockets of his robes, he yanked out two guns, and held them out to Dean. "They're killing your brothers and sisters." He bobbed his head toward Raine's lifeless body. "They killed your wife . . . ." he hesitated for a moment, allowing those words to sink in fully before he added, "You need to protect the family . . . you need to kill our enemies."

With a curt nod, Dean strode down the stairs of the altar, and stalked to the Father. He glanced back over his shoulder at Raine, and his heart clenched painfully as he stared at her motionless body bathed in candlelight. Refocusing his attention on the Father, Dean took the guns the older man offered to him.

"Who the hell are they?" Dean asked, not understanding why anyone would attack them so viciously in the middle of the night without provocation.

"Does it really matter?" the Father replied, a deep scowl settling on his features. "They killed April Raine . . . they've killed others as well. My children. Your brothers and sisters . . . the little ones."

"They killed innocent little kids?" Deep-seeded hatred welled inside of Dean, his breath quickening as he glared at the entrance of the church, envisioning the sight of little children lying dead in the courtyard. "They'll pay for what they've done, Father . . . they'll all pay."

Without another word he stalked from the building, intent on killing as many of their attackers as possible. As he strode through the courtyard, he vowed to himself that he would kill them all or die trying.

From the light of the burning weapon's sheds, Dean clearly saw the bodies of his brothers and sisters who had fallen in their attempt to battle against their enemies. Keeping a wary eye on everything that was going on around him, he knelt beside a young girl. She was bleeding from a wound in her shoulder, and from another bullet wound to her left arm, but neither injuries appeared to be fatal wounds. Dean touched his fingers to the side of her neck and felt for a pulse, breathing a sigh of relief when he found one.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean spied four or five little children huddled in the doorway of the bathing area with no one watching over them. Sonuvabitch . . . why the hell is no one protecting them?

Dean stood and set off at a dead-run toward the children, knocking aside anyone who got in his way. All thoughts of revenge swiftly left him as he reached the terrified children, his mind now solely intent on getting them to safety.

A little girl, who was no more than four or five years old, rushed into his arms as he crouched beside her. She was trembling uncontrollably as tears cascaded down his chubby little cheeks.

"Sc-scared, D-Dominic," she cried as he gathered her into his arms, and picked her up.

"Shhh . . . it's gonna be okay . . . not gonna let anything happen to ya." Dean hastily glanced around, searching for someplace safe to take them, and instantly knew that crossing the courtyard was not an option. "The woods . . . you'll all be safe in the woods."

For several long moments, Dean waited, watching for an opportunity to escape from their shelter, and the second he noticed no one looking in their direction, he ordered the children to run for the woods. Dean trailed after them with the little girl in his arms, glancing back over his shoulder every couple of minutes to make sure they weren't being followed. When they finally reached the spot near the creek he'd been at earlier in the day with Raine, he ordered them all to stop.

Dean set the little girl down, then looked around to make sure they were alone. "Want you all to stay here, understand?" He waited until he saw all of them nod, then continued, "Going back to find more kids, an' then I'll be back, promise." Motioning toward the fallen log where he had proposed to Raine, Dean swallowed hard, and ordered, "Want you all to hide behind that log. No one will see you there. An' I don't want any of you moving from this spot till I come back for ya, hear me?"

Once again all the children nodded, and with that, Dean darted back through the trees, heading for the compound.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

So intent on getting the generator running, the two men never heard John sneaking up behind them. John raised his gun, and slammed the butt of it down hard against one of the cult member's skull. The bald-headed man dropped to the ground instantly, unconscious.

The other man rounded on John, slammed his fist into John's face. Knocked off balance for a moment, John dropped his gun and staggered briefly before he regained his footing. The man swung again, but John caught hold of his arm, and delivered a quick jab to the man's ribcage. Not about to let the younger man to get the upper hand, he quickly followed with an uppercut to the jaw, and another jab to the stomach.

The younger man teetered backwards for a few seconds, than charged John. A powerful fist connect with John's jaw, his head snapping sideways from the force of the blow. The bald-headed man swung again, but John caught a hold of his hand mid-strike, twisted the man's arm behind his back, and brought up his leg and slammed his foot into the small of his back.

The younger man flew forward, and landed sprawled out on the ground. Not about to waste any more time fighting with him, John knelt and ground his knee into the man's spine, effectively trapping him there. From the pocket of his vest, John yanked out a pair of zip-cuffs Deacon had thought to bring to restrain anyone who fought their rescue attempt. John made quick work of cuffing the man, and then rose to stand.

John swung around just in time to see a man wearing crimson robes enter the church. A few minutes later, the younger man he'd seen enter the building earlier exited. At first John thought the younger man was going to join in the battle, and stood in amazement when instead of fighting, the man chose to protect the younger children, leading them into the forest and away from danger. For whatever cruelty had happened inside the compound walls, the younger man had also shown John there was also compassion, and he determined to leave the man alone.

With purposeful strides, John crossed the courtyard, heading straight for the church. He opened the door and eased inside entrance. A blast of icy air slammed full-force into him the moment he stepped further into the room. He hesitated with his finger on the trigger of his gun, all his years of hunting vengeful spirits reeking havoc on his already taut nerves. If he hadn't known he was hunting a man instead of a spirit, John could've almost sworn there was something unnatural at work inside the building. However, all thought of vengeful spirits left John's mind when he spotted Dominic across the empty room.

John stalked across the room, with his gun raised, finger on the trigger. Dominic didn't even seem to notice John's presence in the room or even the plummeting temperature as he cradled a motionless girl in his arms. The young girl was dressed in a simple white dress, now stained with her own blood, and a wreath of white flowers adorned her wavy raven tresses. John cursed under his breath, now realizing why everyone had been at the church earlier in the night. She had just gotten married, and John had no doubt it was to the man who he had seen pick her up and carry her back inside the church after she'd been shot.

A twinge of guilt for the dead girl and her husband gnawed at John's insides, but he pushed it aside allowing his rage to have free reign. "Dominic," sheer hatred seethed from John's tone as he called to the man sitting on the steps of the alter. "You've really fucked with the wrong family this time, you sonuvabitch."

Dominic glanced at John, and a thoughtful frown creased his brow. "I remember you . . . John, isn't it?" A wry laugh escaped his lips as he carefully set the dead girl down on the altar, and stood to face John. "Guess this means your children aren't as dead as you first proclaimed them to be."

"You took my sons," John growled as he took a step toward Dominic, his gun leveled on the man's heart. "An' I'm here to make damn sure no more children are ever taken away from their families."

"Huh, guess that means Morning Dawn betrayed the family." Dominic's grin deepened as he defiantly crossed his arms. "But you see, I already knew that. Actually ordered her death tonight just before the wedding. . . think she's already dead yet, John?" He strode down the steps, and stalked to where John was standing. "An' what about Sam, John? If I already knew she betrayed me because of him, do you really think he's still alive?" He cocked a sardonic brow.

"You better pray to God, he's still alive," John hissed through clenched teeth, shoving the nozzle of his gun into Dominic's chest. "Cause if he isn't . . . I swear to God, I'll rip you apart piece by freakin' piece."

"Fair trade, John," Dominic smirked, "you killed some of my family, I killed some of yours."

"Think you're bluffin'." John's finger tensed on the trigger, and it took every bit of strength he possessed not to shoot the man standing before him. "What have you done to Dean?"

"Dean?" Dominic laughed, the sound of it echoing throughout the room. "Ahhh . . . you must mean my son Dominic." He nudged his head toward the dead woman lying on the alter. "Don't you mean what you did to him. You killed his wife . . . really thinking he's pretty pissed about that."

"H-his what?" John stammered, caught completely off guard by the statement.

"My wife," came a voice from behind John, and he instantly recognized it as Dean's. "You an' your freakin' men killed my wife . . . my family."

"Dean — "

"My name's Dominic," Dean snarled, cutting John off from saying anything further. "An' you killed my wife . . . my family . . . an' all the innocent children laying outside bleedin' to death."

John gripped hold of Dominic, and swung him around so he stood between John and Dean. Now facing his son, John saw the glint of hatred in his Dean's eyes directed solely at him. "They're not your family, Dean," he tried to reason, "came to get you out of here. Your brother, Sam, he . . . ." John's voice trailed off as he thought of Sam, not knowing how to tell Dean that his little brother was dying.

"Not my brother, John," Dean gave a curt shake of his head, then raised the gun he held in his hand, aiming it directly at John. "Release my Father," he ordered as he took a step further into the room, his finger tensing on the trigger, "or I swear to God, I'll shoot you where you stand."


	26. Chapter 26

_So, new chappy... let me know what you think as reviews are like gold to me... thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Twenty-Six_

"I mean it, John," Dean stepped a little further into the room, "let my Father go or I will kill you."

Before John could even think to react to what his son had just said, Dean shifted slightly and fired his weapon. The blast echoed through the church as the bullet grazed John's upper arm. John's right arm jerked backward, his grip loosening on Dominic. Dominic yanked free from John, but before he had a chance to get away, John grabbed hold of him, wrapping his arm around the man's neck. Once again, Dean leveled his gun on John, his finger resting on the trigger.

"You shot my wife . . . hurt my family." Dean took a few more steps toward John.

"Didn't shoot anyone, Dean." John took several backward steps, dragging Dominic along with him, using the cult leader as a shield against the threat Dean represented at the moment. "Came here to save you . . . Sam — "

"He's lying, Dominic," the cult leader shouted to Dean, quickly cutting John off. "He came here to hurt you . . . killed your wife . . . what did she ever do to him?"

"You killed my wife . . . or was it Sam?" Dean asked, his green eyes glinting with hatred as he spoke Sam's name. "Naww . . . he wouldn't be here with you." A mirthless laugh escaped Dean as he raised his weapon and leveled it on John's forehead. "Cause God only knows how much he hates you, too."

John swallowed hard, hearing the pure venom in his eldest son's voice. "Dean . . . Sammy . . . your brother is — "

"Your son. Not my brother," Dean was quick to argue, "Not my brother," he reiterated with a curt shake of his head.

"Kill him, Dominic," the Father goaded as he wrestled to yank free from John's grip, "kill him now before he hurts anymore of your brothers and sisters."

"Don't listen to him, Dean," John lowered his voice, trying to remain calm so he could persuade his son into listening the truth. "He abducted you, brought you here, an' did God only knows what to you. He's not your family," John reasoned. "Sam," he swallowed against the tight knot forming in his throat, fear for his youngest once again at the forefront of his mind, "Your brother's — "

"He left you, Dominic," the Father cut in once again, "he doesn't care about you . . . never has. He's a selfish bastard. But you already know that, right?"

"You're right, Father," Dean took another slow deliberate step toward John, "was always a selfish bastard . . .only ever cared about himself." He looked John squarely in the eyes, a hateful scowl twisting on his face. "Sam's dead to me . . . just like you're dead to me."

"You can't mean that," John uttered heartbrokenly as a icy breeze swept past him, and he involuntarily shuddered, once again feeling as if there was another presence in the church. "Sam tried to — "

"Leave you," Dominic was quick to finish John's sentence. "Was quick to take off once he thought you were gone for good. Not here now, is he, Dominic?" He gestured around the room, and then shook his head. "No, an' that's cause he never cared about you."

"Not true, Dean."

"You're my son, Dominic," the Father coaxed, "My child. An' I would never leave you alone . . . am so proud of you . . . would never choose another over you." The shutters banged hard against the wall outside the church, wind rattling the window panes as the candles on the altar began to flicker. "Raine was your wife . . . John took her from you. Kill him . . . kill him now."

"Dean," a soft feminine voice whispered through the air. Another chilled breeze swept through the room, and two or three of the candles flickered then burned out. "Avenge me . . . pr-promised . . . ."

Momentarily caught off guard at the sound of the woman's voice, John loosened his grip on Dominic, and the cult leader yanked free from his grasp. Dominic quickly scurried away from him, heading for the altar.

"Pr-promised . . . Dea . . ." a shrilled scream reverberated through the room, and one by one the glass windows shattered, shards of glass flying inward toward Dean and John.

"Kill him, Dominic," the Father ordered.

Dean deftly redirected his gun toward John's heart, tensed his finger on the trigger, but before he could think to fire his weapon, he was knocked clear off his feet by wispy ghostlike shadow. He quickly scrabbled to his feet, raised his gun to fire at the vengeful spirit, and thrown hard against the wall, his gun falling from his hand.

"Liar," the woman screeched as she lifted Dean up by the throat, and dragged him up the wall. "Pr-promised . . . ." The ghostly woman hefted him toward another wall, splayed out her arms and several of the pews flew through the air, and crashed all around where Dean had come to rest on the floor.

"Dean!" Dominic forgotten completely, John turned on the vengeful spirit, and fired his gun repeatedly.

The ghostly presence shivered, flickering in and out momentarily before she disappeared, only to reappear a moment later directly in front of Dean again. Grabbing hold of him by the shirt, she hauled him up, and threw him through the air toward John. John rushed forward and caught hold of Dean before he slammed hard against the wooden floor. In a blink, the spirit was standing beside John. Blood dripped from her lips, and from deep gashing wounds in her chest. Eyes, icy blue stared into his momentarily before she shoved him backward. John lost his hold on Dean as he stumbled and fell over an overturned bench. Unconscious, Dean slipped bonelessly to the ground without the aid of John's support, and the spirit knelt beside the middle Winchester.

She gripped hold of Dean's t-shirt, and yanked him forward so their faces were only mere inches apart. More blood seeped from her lips, as she uttered, "Avenge m-me . . . . pr-promised."

"Damn it, leave him the hell alone." John shot to his feet, and rushed the vengeful spirit.

The spirit twisted around in her spot, splayed out her arm, and John was thrown into the pews once more. Glancing at the candles on the altar, she lifted her hand and the flames grew, quickly burning through the wax. With a slash of her hand through the air, the candle holders toppled and slammed into the wall behind the altar. Fire quickly caught and spread across the burgundy curtains, golden-orange flames licking greedily at the old wood of the stage.

In an instant, the spirit was at John's side. Gently, she touched his lips then trailed her icy fingers downward toward his heart. She glanced at the deep stab wound in her own chest, then looked to him once more. "Avenge m-me . . . ." A mournful wail caught on her pale blue lips as she glanced back over her shoulder toward where Dean was lying on the ground. "Pr-promised . . . ."

"Shannon?" John uttered as understanding finally dawned on him. "Damn it, you freakin' latched yourself onto Dean, didn't you?"

Shannon's spirit swung back to glare at John. "Dea . . . pr-protect . . . pr-promised . . . ."

"Your father killed you, didn't he?" John asked, but already suspected he knew the answer. Somehow he understood that Dominic had killed his daughter, and Dean must have made Shannon a promise to avenge her death. Now she was furious because Dean was protecting the man who had murdered her, and was taking her anger out on Dean instead of Dominic. "Killed you, an' now you want Dean to do the same to him."

"Avenge m-me . . . ." She faded away for a moment, only to reappear beside Dean. Raising her hands above her head, Dean's motionless body lifted off the ground as she looked toward the fire that was quickly burning through the altar.

"Let him go!" Heart in his throat, realizing that she was about to throw his son into the fire, John scrabbled to his feet. "Let him go, an' I swear to God, your father will pay for what he did to you."

Shannon's ghost hesitated for the briefest of moments before lowering her arms, and Dean dropped back to the ground. With a loud screeching wail, she disappeared. For a moment, John stood there waiting for her to reappear, but when she didn't, he rushed to his son's side. Not about to risk Dean trying to attack him once he regained consciousness, John grabbed two pairs of zip-cuffs from his vest and tightly secured his son's wrists and ankles. Hauling Dean to his feet, John hefted his son over his shoulder, and lumbered toward the door.

Outside the burning building, John spotted Deacon, Bobby and Ellen heading in his direction. With one last quick glance around the compound to search out Dominic, but not spying him anywhere, John's attention settled on his three friends. Ellen was limping considerably, yet if either man tried to help her, she would grumble very loudly and push their hands away. Bobby was bleeding from a gash on the side of his right cheek, and from what appeared to be a bullet wound in his shoulder. Other than a small gash above Deacon's right eye, and swollen, split lip, he looked to raring and eager to continue with the rescue.

"Any of you seen Dominic?" When they all simultaneously shook their heads, John gave a curt nod. "Alright, gather the men, we've got to get to Sam now before he does."

"A few men got away, John," Deacon was quick to warn, "Pastor Jim an' Gordon high-tailed it after them, but the rest of our guys are locking up the prisoners in a holding cell over there," he nudged his head toward a bunker off to the right. "Want me to throw that guy in there with them?" He gestured to Dean.

John cast a wry smile in his friend's direction. "Not really wanting to throw my son into another prison."

"Dean?" all three of his friends said in near unison.

"Why the hell do ya have him handcuffed?" Bobby was the first to ask, his brow raising in clear disbelief.

Still holding his son, John turned on his heel, and headed toward the front gate, calling back over his shoulder, "Hates his brother . . . tried to kill me . . . an' I'm pretty much thinkin' he'd try to again if I set him free."


	27. Chapter 27

_So, new chappy... finally rescuing poor Sammy!! woohoo!! let me know what you think as reviews are like gold to me... thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Twenty-Seven_

It was nearing dark when Dawn drove up to the compound, and she was thankful for the absence of light. After several very long moments, in which she held her breath the entire time, one of her brothers waved her through the entrance. In her review mirror, she watched the man close the gate behind her as a shiver of fear worked its way down her spine.

Dawn had listened to everything John had said about rescuing Dean first and whereas she knew in her heart he was doing what he thought was best for both brothers, Dawn just wasn't willing to risk Sam's life on the hope that John could get to him in time. And after her conversation with the Father earlier in the day, she was even more certain that she needed to do something on her own to save Sam.

Maybe the Father didn't know about John or the rescue plans, but Dawn was positive the cult leader knew of her feelings toward Sam. And if he did know, Dawn needed to make sure Sam was no where around if the Father came back to the compound. With that thought in mind, Dawn parked her vehicle and headed inside the smallest of the outbuildings. She glanced around the sparsely furnished eating area, made sure no one was around and then rushed over to the coffee maker sitting on the counter.

With one last look over her shoulder to make sure no one was coming into the room, she withdrew three vials from her pocket and dumped the contents of both into the steaming liquid. Dawn knew she couldn't risk bringing the tainted coffee to her brothers, but also knew that while on duty they often took shifts coming inside to take a break. It was a calculated risk, and she would have to wait, but hopefully they would all eventually be out cold, and she could take Sam from his prison.

Taking a deep calming breath, Dawn returned the vials to her pocket, and with shaky fingers she took out two syringes and filled them. While she could wait for the outer guard to succumb to the effects of the sedative, she needed to make sure the two men standing guard just inside the prison were out cold while she prepared Sam to leave. With one more deep breath, she smoothed her hair, plastered a fake smile to her face, and headed outside. It took every ounce of sheer willpower she possessed, but Dawn kept to a slow leisurely pace as not to arouse suspicion. If she appeared too eager to get to Sam, her brothers would suspect, and that was something she could not afford to happen.

"Dawn," came a voice from directly behind her, and Dawn froze in her spot, a wave of terror sweeping through her as Markus grabbed hold of her arm. "What are you doing here?" he asked, and quirked a brow as she turned to face him. "Father told me this morning that you were no longer allowed to see the prisoner."

Dawn's smile faltered for the briefest of moments as she tried to think of a logical reason why the Father would change his mind. In truth, she hadn't known that the Father had now forbidden her from seeing Sam, and as such struggled to find a plausible explaination for being there now. "I think you misunderstood him, Markus. Why would I be here if he hadn't sent me?"

"No, I don't think I misunderstood anything." His grip tightened around her arm as he forcefully dragged her back to the building she'd just come from. "See, he used the words betrayal and traitor, an' I'm pretty damn sure I understand what they mean."

At the word traitor, and seeing the hard cold glint in the older man's eyes, Dawn's knees buckled. She'd witnessed firsthand what the Father did to someone he deemed a traitor, and it made what the madman had done to Sam seem like child's play.

"Not a traitor," Dawn denied as she tried desperately to jerk free of Markus' grasp on her arm, to no avail. "You have to believe me, Markus." Tears brimmed in her eyes as she pleaded with him, but Markus didn't even seem to notice.

"Are you calling the Father a liar?" Markus' tone turned deadly as he roughly pushed Dawn inside the building.

Raising a hand, he backhanded her across the face. The force of the blow sent Dawn careening backward to land sprawled out on the floor. The syringes she'd kept hidden until now flew from her hand and rolled across the floor. Markus snatched them up before she had a chance to grab for them. He glanced at them briefly, rolling them through his fingers before he turned his deadly gaze on Dawn. Horrified, Dawn's eyes widened as she stared at the syringes, her only hope of saving Sam, now held firmly in Markus' hand.

"Not a traitor, huh?" He smirked. "Seems as if I understood Father perfectly, doesn't it?"

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Bobby, don't want you to argue with me about this," John ordered as he dropped Dean down on the seat of his friend's truck. "Take him back to the motel, an' whatever you do, don't untie him yet."

"What about Sam?" Bobby argued, "you need all the help ya can get to get him outta there. Dean can help."

"Not thinkin' Dean will be in too much of a helping mood at the moment," John hissed in anger, remembering how cold his son had been toward him, and how even the mention of Sam made Dean even more furious. "That sonuvabitch turned him against us. An' I'm just not willing to risk everything on the chance that seeing Sam will trigger something inside Dean. You didn't see him, Bobby, he's just too far gone at the moment."

Bobby made as if to argue the point, but after a slight hesitation, he snapped his mouth shut and gave a curt nod. "Alright, I'll take him back to the motel, make sure he can't escape, then come back to join you."

"No," John said with a shake of his head, "you stay with Dean. Already lost him once, not about to leave him unprotected now that I have him back."

"But — "

"Just do like he says," Deacon cut in on the conversation, "we got this covered."

"How have ya got this covered?" Bobby groused as he gestured around at all the other hunters, who were at the moment nursing their various injuries, then returned his attention to John and Deacon. "Pretty much everyone here is hurt in one form or another, an' you're goin' up against trained men who are in a helluva lot better shape than any of you at the moment. You need all the help you can get. Especially if Dominic is there."

"Not gonna be a problem," John stoically assured as he glanced at his truck, "I have a plan." Without giving Bobby anymore chance to argue, John motioned for everyone to get into their vehicles. "Deacon, you come with me," he ordered as he climbed into his vehicle. Shutting the door behind him, he opened the window and called out to Bobby, "Make sure you keep an eye on Dean, an' remember what I said, don't release him until I get back."

Once Deacon was seated beside Ash in the cab of the truck, John hit the gas pedal and peeled out onto the road. Dust kicked up behind them as he hastily picked up speed. From his review mirror, John saw several cars following close behind, and grabbing his walkie-talkie, he jabbed the button. "Ellen, you there?"

After a few moments of static, Ellen's voice came back over the walkie-talkie. "Yeah, John."

"Not gonna bother trying to climb the wall in back, that'll jus' take way too much time."

"So what's you're plan then?" she finally asked after a long pause.

"Let's just say, all hell's about to break loose. I'm done fucking around with these bastards." John threw down his walkie-talkie and gripped a firmer hold on the steering wheel. Pressing down hard on the accelerator, the truck quickly ate up the miles between the two compounds. "Ash, cut the power," John commanded, without taking his sights off the road ahead.

"Gotcha, John," Ash said with a nod, and within a few keystrokes, the light coming from up ahead went out. "Power's cut."

As John pressed harder on the gas pedal, gunning the engine, Deacon gripped hold of the door handle. Up ahead, the front gate of the compound came into view, but instead of slowing down, John pushed the pedal all the way to the floor.

"What the hell are you planning, John?"

"Crashin' the gate," John cast a brief sideways glance in Deacons' direction before retraining his sights on the entrance. "If Dominic already got there, they already know we're comin', so no sense in trying to sneak in."

"Hope to hell you know what you're doing," Deacon grumbled as he loaded his gun then braced himself for the impact.

Stretching out and arm, Deacon held it firmly in front of Ash as they crashed headlong into the gate. Splintered pieces of wood flew threw the air, crashing down on the roof of the truck and tumbling off to the ground around them. The truck skidded sideways in the dirt as John slammed on the brakes, and veering to the right the vehicle rammed into the front of one of the buildings.

Within a heartbeat, John was out of his vehicle, and firing his weapon at the men rushing toward him. His door jammed, Deacon hastily climbed over Ash, and leapt out of the vehicle to follow John.

"Deacon," John shouted above the sounds of gunfire, "weapon's shed." With a quick nod of understanding, Deacon rushed toward the building containing all the cult's weapons.

John didn't have a chance to see if Deacon had made it to the shed as a bullet whizzed by his ear, drawing his attention to three men coming directly toward him. Dropping to the ground, he just barely missed getting struck by another bullet. Another shot had him rolling to the side, and out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the rest of the hunters rushing forward to join in the fight.

An explosion rocked the earth as the weapon's shed went up in flames. Fire lit up the sky as several smaller explosions followed. Smoke rolled thick and black from the blaze as heated bullets fired from inside the remains of the building. Momentarily distracted by the commotion, John's attackers stopped firing for to stare at the burning inferno. John leapt to his feet, aimed his gun and fired at the man standing closest to him. The gun the man held in his hand, flew from his grip as he clutched a hold of his upper shoulder, blood oozing from beneath his fingertips. With two more bullets spent from John's clip, the other two men fell to their knees.

In the midst of the chaos, John swung just in time to see the Impala heading straight toward him with Dominic behind the wheel. Taking quick aim, he fired, the bullet shattering the front window. Dominic swerved, and just barely missed hitting into John as he dodged out of the way. The cult leader slammed on the brakes, and threw the car in reverse, flooring the engine as he once again tried to run John down. John hastily fired his weapon again, the back window shattering.

John had scarcely managed to sidestep the car when he noticed two more men coming toward him with guns drawn and aimed at his heart. Two simultaneous shots fired and echoed through the night and the men crumpled to the ground, Gordon standing behind them with a satisfied grin on his face. John gave a quick nod of thanks before returning his attention to Dominic.

Once again the Impala was barreling down on him, the madman behind the wheel determined to kill John with his own son's car. With one more shot fired, John ducked inside the nearest building, knowing that Dominic would have to follow on foot if he wanted to finish what he'd started.

"Drop your weapon now," ordered a voice from behind him, and John swung to find a man aiming a gun directly at his chest. From the light of several lit candles, John saw the man was using Billy as a shield. "Drop it now unless you want me to kill you where you stand," he hissed through clenched teeth.

John eyed Billy for a moment, and silently cursed under his breath when he noticed blood dripping from a jagged cut on her cheek and from her lower lip. "Let her go," he said as he trained his gun on the younger man, "she's done nothing to you. Just let her go."

The man's arm around Billy's neck tightened as he pulled her backward, closer to him. "Really? Cause from the way I see things, she's the reason you're here." He brushed his face up against hers, and murmured in her ear, "Isn't that right, Dawn? Told them all about the family so you could save that sonuvabitch?"

"Markus, please," Dawn begged, trembling uncontrollably as tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Course she probably forgot to mention that she's the one who lured him here in the first place." Markus eyed John for a moment and realizing by the expression that briefly flitted across John's face that he hadn't known that, the younger man started to laugh. "Probably also didn't tell you that she's the one who got him hooked on drugs."

Dawn squirmed, trying to break Markus' grip on her, eyes pleading with John to understand that she'd been forced to harm Sam. "Please, you have to understand, I never wanted to hurt Sam," she uttered between sobs, "they made me do it . . . tr-tried to protect him."

From what John had witnessed with Dean, he had no doubt that Billy was telling the truth. She may have very well lured Sam here, and had drugged him, but he couldn't believe in his heart that she'd ever intended to hurt his son. She'd risked everything to find John, even if it meant putting her own life in danger, and he trusted that she truly loved his youngest son.

Out of the corner of his eye, John noticed Deacon slip soundlessly through the back entrance. Slowly, as not to make a sound, he crept closer to Markus, his gun pointed directly at the younger man's back. John seriously doubted his long time friend would actually shoot Markus in the back, but also knew if it meant saving an innocent girl's life, Deacon wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger.

"If that's the truth, then what makes you think I won't shoot her to get to you?" John asked, needing to keep Markus' attention diverted from Deacon. His finger tensed on the trigger, brows drawing together as a smirk played across his features. "The way I figure it, you all deserve to die. Every damn one of you."

The cocky smile on Markus' face faltered then disappeared, a worried frown replacing it. Still holding tightly to Dawn, he took several backward steps, bringing him that much closer to where Deacon was. "You wouldn't kill her . . . she doesn't even have a weapon."

"Wanna bet?" John took a deliberate step forward, squeezed the trigger, moving his hand slightly before the bullet left the chamber. As the bullet grazed Markus' arm then ricocheted off the wall, Dawn drew forward, raised her arm and elbowed Markus in the gut.

Not allowing Markus a chance to retaliate, Deacon rushed forward and tackled him to the ground, slamming his fists into the younger man's face as Markus' gun slid across the floor. Markus bucked wildly, dislodging Deacon, and quickly scrambled to his feet, and Deacon followed. Back on their feet, both men circled, vying for an opening shot. Markus swung first, catching Deacon in the lower jaw. Staggering backward briefly, Deacon regained his footing, and rounded on Markus, smashing his fist into the man's stomach. With an expelled rush of breath, Markus flew backward into a table, sending it careening to the ground with a loud clattered.

Before Markus had a chance to regain his footing, John and Deacon both rushed him, Deacon gripping hold of his arms as John cuffed his wrists in a pair of zip-cuffs. Dawn dropped down beside Markus, reached into his pocket and yanked out the syringes he taken from her.

"It's a sedative," she quickly assured as she injected it into the vein in Markus's arm. "Meant to use it on Sam's guards . . . wasn't sure you were gonna make it here, an' I just thought . . . well, I was gonna . . . ." her voice trailed as she looked at John, and he smiled realizing she had planned on taking matters into her own hands to rescue his son.

"Let's get Sam an' get the hell out of here," John said as he helped Dawn to her feet. He turned to look at Deacon, and noticed for the first time that his friend's arm was bleeding and there was a jagged piece of wood protruding out from it. "You okay?"

"Yeah, damn piece of wood caught me in the arm from the blast, probably'll need some stitches, but I'm good."

Without another word, they all headed for the door, and out across the courtyard, watchful for anymore of Dominic's men. Dawn led the way to where Sam was being kept prisoner with John and Deacon close behind her. Amidst the fading sounds of gunfire, they entered the underground bunker. Luckily whoever had been guarding Sam must have left when all the lights had went out and hadn't returned. Once inside, John took the lead down the narrow staircase, wanting to get to Sam first. At the bottom of the darkened stairwell, John and Deacon yanked their flashlights out of their pockets and flipped them on.

"He's in the last cell on the right," Dawn uttered, seeming to realize what John was going to ask even before the words formed on his lips. She grabbed hold of John's arm as he started toward the cell. "Just want you to understand he's in real bad shape . . . I mean, you should be prepared." A single tear slipped down her cheek and she hastily brushed it aside. "Did the best I could, but . . . ."

"Seen him in rough shape before." John tried to force a note of confidence into his voice, but couldn't quite manage it. "He'll be okay, just got to get him out of here."

"Maybe I should go first, John," Deacon offered, a clear note of sadness in his tone,"I mean, well, he's your son an' if he's — "

"No, he's my son," John growled cutting Deacon off. His stomach began to churn violently at the foul smelling stench assailing his senses, and cursed under his breath as he thought of his youngest son being forced to stay in the dark, dank cellar. "He's gonna be fine," he reiterated, although for all his words of reassurance, John couldn't seem to move from his spot. His legs felt like rubber and at the same time felt thick and useless, and vaguely he recalled the last time they had felt like that he'd seen the love of his life pinned to the ceiling burning alive.

With every ounce of sheer strength and willpower he possessed, he pushed himself forward, deeper into the room. As they slowly drew nearer to Sam's prison, John could hear the muffled sounds of his son, and knew Sam was speaking but couldn't make out the words in his ramblings. At the soft scuffling of their shoes against the cold cement floor outside Sam's cell, the youngest Winchester weakly pushed himself backward, butting up against the back of the cage. A cry of pain burst from his cracked and bruised lips as his back made contact with the iron bars, and he squeezed his eyes shut, wincing as another soft cry escaped him.

"Sam . . . Sammy . . . ." John's voice trailed off as took in how badly battered his son was, his fists clenching tightly as he thought of Dominic hurting his child, and vowed to do far worse to the cult leader when he got a hold of him.

Sam quickly buried his head beneath his bare arms, battered and bloodied fingers working their way through his matted hair. "E-evil . . . e-evil," he rasped as he desperately tried to hide himself from John's view. "I-I'm e-evil. D-deserve t-to die."

John's heart caught in his throat, and he was forced to look away for a moment to regain his composure. He swallowed hard several times, feeling the bile rise up from his stomach. Taking a few slow deep breaths, John was finally able to retrain his sights on Sam. "Deacon, go an' find a blanket or somethin' to put around him," he managed to utter, his own voice sounding strained and clipped to his ears.

With a quick nod, Deacon rushed off to find what John asked for, which John was thankful for because at the moment he was having a hell of a time keeping his emotions in check. When Dawn had said Sam was in really bad shape, John had imagined many things, but nothing came even remotely close to what he was seeing now. "Open the damn door so I can get him outta there," he hissed through clenched teeth.

Dawn pulled the key to the cell out of her pocket and hastily opened the door, rushed inside and dropped down beside Sam. After a moment of hesitation, John followed and crouched beside her. Very slowly John reached out to touch his son on the arm, but drew back at the last minute, afraid that he might hurt him even more.

"God, Sam, what the hell did they do to you?" John said in a breathless whisper, tears gathering in his eyes.

"Pl-please . . . jus' . . . jus' leave me alone," Sam glanced at him, eyes pleading with John not to hurt him anymore, and John's heart shattered knowing how completely they had broken his youngest son. "Can't t-take anymore," Sam's voice hitched in his throat as he turned his head slightly to look at Dawn. "Jus' let me d-die, Dawn . . . th-they aren't comin' for me. Da — " he drew in a staggering breath, and grimaced, closing his eyes tightly as he began to shake uncontrollably. "Told ya . . . m-my Dad w-wouldn't c-come for me. N-never c-cared . . . ."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

_if you get a chance, check this out, it's for a very good cause for a fellow writer!! _

_"We're running a Supernatural fanfic auction for the next two weeks (June 28 - July 12) benefiting a fellow writer, publisher, and friend who is in need of a wheelchair. Twenty-two writers (and one vidder!) have generously offered their talents and time to this endeavor, and every penny goes to the fund. The auction can be found at , under Miscellaneous-General, and registering to bid is fast and free. Donations are also gratefully accepted. For questions or to make a donation, please contact me at . I hope you'll come check it out and not only have some fun bidding on some great writers, but also help us raise money for a good cause!"  
K Hanna Korossy_


	28. Chapter 28

__

_so yeah, i know this is a short chappy, but figured this was as good of spot to end it as any...thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Twenty-Eight_

When Deacon returned with an old blanket he'd found, he was more than a little surprised to find John sitting on the bottom step leading into the cellar. John's head was lowered, and even from where he was, Deacon could see that his friend was trembling. He slowed his pace as he descended the stairs, hearing the anguished heart-wrenching sobs coming from the hunter. John Winchester was just a man who didn't cried, he held his emotions very tightly in check, and to see him so broken right now, tore at Deacon's heart. The only other time he'd seen his friend in this bad of condition, it was shortly after Mary's death, and that sent a wave of fear galloping through his entire body. If he's here does that mean . . . no, Sam's not dead . . . he can't be.

Shoulders slumped dejectedly, head resting against balled fists as he continued to tremble, John appeared defeated, his undeniable pain and anguish showing clearly through, and it was enough to steal Deacon's breath away. Placing a comforting hand on John's shoulder, Deacon took a seat beside him. For several very long minutes, he waited, saying nothing as John continued to sob.

"Sam . . . he's not . . . ." Deacon's voice trailed off, not wanting to actually say the word dead, and heaved a grateful sigh of relief when John shook his head. Brusquely raking his fingers through his hair, he glanced in the direction of the cells and craning his neck, he heard Dawn talking to Sam, although he couldn't make out what she was saying. Returning his attention to John, Deacon wondered once again why John was here when Sam needed him.

"He — he wants to die," John mumbled brokenly before Deacon had the chance to ask, "he thinks I . . . he jus' wants to die." His head sunk even lower, his fingers slipping into and curling tightly around his hair. "They hurt him so bad . . . God, why'd they have to hurt him so damn bad, Deacon?"

Deacon swallowed the information John had just shared with him, worrying that if Sam lost the will to live, there might not be anything they could do to save him. "John," he said in his most authoritative tone, pushing back his fears to the furthest niches of his mind, needing to remain strong for his friend, "why the hell are you over here instead of with Sam? He needs you there."

"Couldn't take it . . . needed to walk away for a minute," John reluctantly admitted. He cocked his head to the side, and peered into Deacon's eyes. "Jus' made matters worse when I was there. Hell, he didn't even know it was me . . . thought I was one of those bastards an' was gonna hurt him some more."

"Then you need to make him see that it's you," Deacon responded with a curt nod, "get your ass up an' get the hell over there." With that said, he rose to stand, gripped hold of John's arm and dragged him to his feet, not about to take no for an answer, knowing John would do the same if the situation was reversed and it was Deacon's child who was in pain.

Like a man condemned, John trudged back to the cell and went inside, with Deacon following close behind. He knelt beside Sam and very lightly touched him on the arm, feeling his son flinch and shy away at the subtle gesture.

"Sam," he began in a low and comforting voice, but quickly change it to that of a more authoritative tone, realizing that Sam would more likely respond to the familiarity of it. "It's me . . . Dad. We're going to get you out of here. Understand me? We're gonna get you out, an' you're gonna be okay."

"N-no . . . Dawn, please," Sam begged, completely ignoring John's attempts to reach him. "Jus' n-need a little . . . ." his voice trailed off as his unsteady gaze wavered toward her pocket. "Pl-please make th-the pain go away . . . jus' a little."

Dawn looked to John, fear registering in her eyes before she hastily lowered her head in shame. "I'm so sorry . . . this is all my fault. God, I'm so sorry, John."

John drew in a sharp intake of air, understanding dawning on him as to what his son was pleading for, and again he had to forcefully swallow back the bile rising in his throat. "No, Sammy, no more drugs . . . no more torture, we're taking you home." He gripped hold of Sam's chin, and forced his son to look him in the eyes, grimacing and cursing under his breath when Sam cried out in pain. "Look at me, Sam. No one's gonna hurt you anymore. I'm here an' I'll be damned if anyone ever touches you again."

"Sam," Dawn gently placed a hand on Sam's arm, "you're Dad is here. I found him, an' he's come to take you away from here. You an' me," she gestured between the two of them, "we're leaving this place together, just like I promised we would."

"D-Dad," Sam muttered, and for the first time since they'd entered the prison, it seemed as if he recognized who John was. "D-didn't think y-you'd come . . . n-needed y-you s-so damn much." Tears rolled down Sam's dirt-stained cheeks as he fell limply into John's trembling arms.

"I gotcha, Sammy . . . I gotcha." For what seemed the longest time, John held as firmly as he possibly could onto his son, fearing that if he let go, Sam would slip away and die on him. Sam sobbed brokenly in his arms as John continued to quietly reassure his youngest that everything was going to be okay. Yet, deep down inside himself, John was terrified that there nothing he could do to fix what the madman had done to his two sons. They were both just so completely broken that John couldn't even begin to think how to make things right again.

"John," Deacon gently prodded as he handed John the blanket that he'd found, "we gotta get him out of here now."

John gave a curt nod as he wrapped the blanket around his son, and then very carefully, he and Deacon helped Sam to his feet. Although John tried his damnedest to remain strong, he couldn't block out the agonizing cries of pain coming from Sam as his arm came in contact with hideous wounds on his son's back. If it hadn't been for Dawn's reassuring words as she took hold of Sam so that Deacon could lead the way out of there, John would have crumbled.

"It's not that far, Sam," Dawn uttered in a soft encouraging tone as they slowly made there way through the cellar and up the stairs. "Just you an' me," she choked on a sob, and John realized that she feared that Sam wouldn't make it out of there alive either. "We're gonna make it out of here, just like I promised you."

"L-love ya . . . D-Dawn," Sam managed to utter in a hoarse, raspy whisper, "w-wanted ya t-to know that . . . ."

His eyes slowly fluttered closed as he stumbled over the steps, and if John and Dawn weren't there to hold him upright, he would've fallen all the way back down the staircase. John felt Sam grow heavier in his arms, and moved all the quicker, knowing his son was losing the will to move onward.

"Don't you dare say that to me now," Dawn commanded, her voice now stronger and full of determination, "Damn it, you wait until we're out of here, an' you're better. Got me? Not about to let you give up on me." Sam's eyelids flitted back open as he smiled weakly at Dawn, and John's heart caught in his throat, knowing that if it hadn't been for Dawn, his son would have given up.

"Y-you an' m-me . . . I r-remember." As Sam cried out in pain, Dawn drew him closer to him, now taking the brunt of his weight into her arms. "N-nothin' else m-matters but that . . . ."

At the entrance leading out of the underground bunker, Deacon held out his arm to stop them as he opened the door and peered outside into the darkness. When he was certain they hadn't been spotted by anyone, he cautiously stepped out the door, and motioned for them to follow. Once outside, John reluctantly released his hold on Sam, and yanked his gun out of his waistband. Although the sounds of gunfire was becoming less and less frequent, he was still fairly certain Dominic was around somewhere, and knew Sam would be the only target the madman was gunning for.

"Can you handle him on your own, Billy," John asked, as he eyed the young woman with nothing but pure admiration as he noticed the strong determined set of her jaw. "Yeah, I'm sure you can."

John took the lead as they headed for his truck, and Deacon fell back to make sure no one snuck up behind them. Sam staggered and stumbled several times, but to her credit, Dawn never let him fall as they edged closer and closer to the vehicle. They were almost to the truck when a shouted voice stopped them dead in their tracks.

"Took most of my family, John," Dominic hollered in a crazed voice, and John swung around trying to find him. "So I figure fair is fair," he'd barely finished saying that as a crack of rapid gunfire echoed through the night.

In stunned horror, John stood dumbstruck as he turned just in time to witness Billy jerk forward and fall on top of Sam who lay motionless on the ground. As a growl of pain erupted from Deacon's lips as he dropped his gun and clutched his arm, John rushed forward and dropped to the ground beside his son.

XxXxXxXxXxXx

Hey, I am auctioning off a story for a very good cause to help a fellow writer, so if you get a chance, take a look!! If you bid and win, i'll write any kind of story your heart desires!! Bambers;)

"We're running a Supernatural fanfic auction for the next two weeks (June 28 - July 12) benefiting a fellow writer, publisher, and friend who is in need of a wheelchair. Twenty-two writers (and one vidder!) have generously offered their talents and time to this endeavor, and every penny goes to the fund. The auction can be found at , under Miscellaneous-General, and registering to bid is fast and free. Donations are also gratefully accepted. For questions or to make a donation, please contact me at . I hope you'll come check it out and not only have some fun bidding on some great writers, but also help us raise money for a good cause!"  
K Hanna Korossy


	29. Chapter 29

Thanks to everyone who is still reading!! SO starts the long road to recovery cause there is just no way in hell the boys would just hop into the Impala and drive of into the sunset after what i've put them through...so, i figure the aftermath will be quite long...bambers;)

_Chapter Twenty-Nine_

Hearing the sound of the Father's voice, Dawn hastily glanced around and spotted the madman hidden in the shadows of one of the buildings. A glint of light caught her eye, and she squinted to see that he had a gun pointed directly at Sam, but before he had a chance to fire his weapon, she let go of Sam and forcefully pushed him to the ground. As the sound of gunfire ripped through the night, Dawn jerked forward, a cry of pain dying on her lips as she dropped to the ground on top of Sam.

Through the haze of pain, she glanced up and saw John rushing toward her, then lowered her head and clung to Sam. "S-Sam," she cried out, tears slipping down her cheeks as she felt blood rapidly covering her shirt.

Sam slowly turned and wrapped his arms around her, and weakly held her to him. "D-Dawn . . . don't d-do this . . .stay with me . . . y-you an' me, remember?"

"Told y-you we'd m-make it," she responded in a faint whisper. She lifted her head and kissed him lightly on the lips, and felt his arms wrap more firmly around her. "L-love you, S-Sam."

"D-Dawn?" Sam heard Dawn gasp for breath and felt her slump against him as something warm soaked through the blanket that was around him, but refused to believe that she was dying. She'd been the only reason he was still alive, the only hope that he'd clung so desperately to as the Father and Dean had tortured him relentlessly, and he wasn't about to let her die now. "Come on, D-Dawn . . . d-don't do this to me. I-I need you w-with me . . . I love you."

"Sam," came his father's voice, soft and low beside him, "she's gone, Sammy."

John tried to gently pry Dawn from his arms, but Sam held her all the tighter, refusing to let her go. If he let go of her now, that would mean that she was really dead, and Sam just couldn't accept that. Wouldn't accept that. He would keep her alive like she'd kept him alive, and if that meant never letting go of her, he was more than prepared to do just that.

"She's dead, Sammy," John tried again, and this time Sam was no match for his father's sheer strength as he ripped Dawn from Sam's embrace. "You have to let her go," his father went on to say, his voice sounding strangely straggled and strained. "You jus' have to let her go."

"No . . . she's n-not . . . she h-has to be okay." He turned pleading eyes to his father, and when John sadly shook his head, a blood-curdling scream of pain ripped from Sam's lips. Over and over again, he screamed out until he felt as if his throat closed up, hemming in all his pain, turning it inward to ravage his battered soul.

"Deacon," John shouted to his longtime friend, who had dropped to the ground to retrieve his weapon, after being shot in the arm, and was now back on his feet, heading toward where he had last seen Dominic. He quickly scanned the area, searching for any signs of the cult leader, but Dominic was gone. He turned back to look at his son who had been screaming a moment ago, but was now just staring off blankly into space, and John's fear increased tenfold, terrified that he was losing his youngest son. "Forget about him for now, we gotta get Sam outta here."

"We gotta get that sonuvabitch, John," Deacon hollered back, "let him go now an' we might not get another chance."

"Don't give a rat's ass about him at the moment, have to get Sam to a hospital. Now." John placed a reassuring hand on his son's shoulder as he glanced around one more time looking for Dominic, and then refocused his attention on his son. He had never been able to reach his youngest son before, they had always butted heads over even the smallest of issues, and had it not been for Dean, John knew Sam would have left home long before he actually did. And he was at a complete loss as to how to get through to him now, and mentally kicked himself for not forcing Dean to come with them. "Sam," he began in a low shaky tone, "have to get you to the hospital . . . gonna call Bobby and have him bring Dean there, 'kay?"

Sam instantly recoiled from him, overwhelming fear filled his hazel eyes as he began to tremble uncontrollably. He shook his head emphatically as he continued to back away from John. Fearful childlike eyes pleaded with John as Sam opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words issued past his quivering lips.

"You don't want Dean there," John asked, horrible understanding dawning on him, and when Sam relaxed a little in his rigid posture, John knew that he was right. Sam was afraid of Dean. Somehow in the amount of time the boys had been held captive by Dominic, he had managed to destroy them both completely. From what he'd seen and heard from his oldest, Dean hated Sam, and now from what he was learning from Sam at this very moment, his youngest was absolutely terrified of Dean. "Alright, Sammy, he doesn't have to come to the hospital, if you don't want him there," he managed to force out past the thick lump in his throat.

John looked to Deacon, and a subtle understanding passed between them as they carefully helped Sam to his feet, and slowly made their way to John's truck. For now, they just needed to concentrate on getting Sam to the hospital so he could begin to heal physically, and then the long hard road to recovering emotionally would begin.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Not gonna argue you with you about this, John," Deacon said as they waited to hear any word as to how Sam's surgery to repair the damage to his hands was progressing. "I have well over a month's vacation time saved up, an' I'm taking it. You need my help, so stop bein' such a stubborn ass an' just accept what I'm offering."

"Can handle this on my own," John stubbornly refused, although a small part of himself was terrified that Deacon would take him at his word. He had never liked asking for help, but knew he was in way over his head.

"Don't really care if you think you can handle this on your own cause I am staying." Deacon shifted in his seat to look at John, and a worried frown creased his brow. "Look, John, this isn't gonna be an easy fix. Can't just slap a bandage on their wounds, slap 'em on the back, an' send them out hunting again." He drew in a deep breath as he ran his fingers through his thick, dark brown hair. "The way Dominic messed with their minds, I'm not sure they'll ever totally recover from this, an' you need to be prepared for that."

Feeling hot tears stinging at his eyes, John lowered his head to look at his clasped hands. "How am I suppose to get through to them, Deacon? How am I supposed to even begin undoing all the damage that sonuvabitch did to my boys?"

"Well, the first thing we gotta do is start deprogramming Dean, an' I can tell you right now, it isn't gonna be easy." Deacon was silent for a moment, allowing John to digest what he had just said, before he continued, "But I think he'll be the only one who will be able to get through to Sam. So I think it's imperative that we begin as soon as possible."

"You saw the look in Sam's eyes, he's terrified of his older brother," John argued, hating the idea of his youngest son being afraid of his oldest. "Not sure that's such a good idea."

"The only way Sam's gonna see that he has nothing to be afraid of, is if he sees his brother and realizes he has nothing to fear from him."

"Only problem is that right now I don't think his fears would be all that unfounded," John reluctantly admitted, "I mean, you didn't see Dean in the church. Really think he would've tried to kill me if he had the chance. So how the hell am I supposed to trust him with Sammy's life?"

"Well, then we've got to get started as soon as possible cause the longer we wait, the harder it'll be for both of them."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Unfreakin' tie me, Bobby," Dean snarled as he twisted and turned, trying to break loose of the zip-cuffs around his wrists and ankles. "You have no right holding me here against my will."

Bobby heaved a heavy sigh, having already told Dean numerous times that he wasn't about to untie him until John came back to the motel. John had made it abundantly clear that Dean was too dangerous at the moment to let him go free, and Bobby was beginning to believe his longtime friend was right on the matter.

Not once had Dean asked about Sam, and earlier when Bobby had mentioned the youngest Winchester, Dean practically flew into a rage. And in the end, Bobby had to walk outside before he said something to Dean that he would eventually regret.

Scrubbing a hand across his scruffy beard, he muttered, "Already told ya at least twenty times now, that I ain't lettin' ya go."

Dean narrowed his eyes on Bobby, pure hatred glinting in their stormy green depths. "Was it you who killed my wife, Bobby. Cause if it was, I will kill you."

"Didn't kill anyone, Dean . . . was using tranquilizer guns," Bobby slumped down onto the couch, suddenly feeling exhausted and completely worn out from lack of sleep and the events of the last few days. "We never planned on killing anyone," he uttered, although he knew that John had every intention of killing Dominic for what the madman had done to his sons. "We were jus' tryin' to get you out of there alive."

"Bullshit, Bobby," Dean shot back as he continued to writhe around on the bed, trying desperately to break loose. "You think I didn't see all my brothers and sisters lying dead on the ground? Think I can't tell if a person is freakin' dead by now?"

"If they were dead, it wasn't because of us," Bobby's voice rose several octaves, not liking it at all that the younger man was accusing him of killing anyone. "John made it very clear that unless our lives were in danger, we weren't to kill anyone."

"Let me go, Bobby," Dean's tone turned to pleading as he stopped squirming and glanced over at Bobby. "Want to go back home to my Father . . . to what's left of my family."

"They ain't your family, boy," Bobby tried to reason, lowering his voice when he saw the look of pain in Dean's eyes. "John an' Sam are your family. Everything they've done to try an' get you back should prove that much to you."

"Sonuvabitch, let me freakin' go." Dean shot forward in his bed, and yanked with all his strength on the zip-cuffs, to no avail. "Gonna break free at some point, you know I will, then nothin' you can do will keep me here."

"Maybe I can't, but your Dad can."

"He's not my Dad . . . he's not." Dean twisted some more, kicking outward with his feet, but still the cuffs held firm. "Can't keep me here like this forever, an' the moment I'm free, I'm going back to my family."

"An' then your Dad will just come after you again. He's your father, not Dominic. Sam's your brother . . . you have no other family besides them."

"No, John's a selfish sonuvabitch who only ever cared about hunting that damn demon, an' takin' care of his precious little Sammy." Anger seething from him, Dean drew in a breath and continued, "An' Sam, that sorry little sonuvabitch, well, he only ever cared about himself. Couldn't wait to hightail it away from John an' — he made it very clear that he has no ties with any family. An' I don't care if I ever see his cowardly face again. So are you gonna let me go, or do I have to break free . . . cause if I do have to break free, you better not be anywhere around here when I do."

There was so much venom and hatred in Dean's tone that Bobby visibly flinched. He'd never thought he'd live to see the day when Dean wasn't in protective mode of his family, nor had he ever thought Dean would threaten him either. And if Dominic was there at the moment, Bobby would've probably killed the man himself for what he had done to the Winchesters.

"Dean, your little brother needs you . . . needs you now more than ever before — "

"Well, that's too damn bad, cause I sure as hell don't need him," Dean was quick to cut him off, "he's not my freakin' problem anymore. He made that point very clear to me."

"You really don't care about them, do you?" Bobby slumped further into the couch cushions, all the fight leaving him as the coldness behind Dean's words struck him full-force. "What the hell did that monster do to you?"

"Opened my eyes," Dean replied as if the answer should be obvious. "My Father cares about me. Wants me to be happy . . . wanted me to have a family of my own . . . and that's a helluva lot more than John ever wanted for me."


	30. Chapter 30

Thanks to everyone who is still reading!! So, still a long way to go, loads of angst ahead...hopefully i can do the boys recovery justice. thanks for reading and all the awesome reviews...bambers;)

_Chapter Thirty_

Dean was biding his time, waiting until John, Bobby or Deacon to let their guard down, and then he would break free and return to his family. However, none of them seemed willing to let Dean out of their sights for more than a few minutes, and that was only when he had to go to the bathroom, and even then they had refused to remove the shackles around his wrists and ankles. Nevertheless, even if they had removed them, there were no windows in the tiny bathroom in which he could escape from. So he was forced to wait until one of them made a mistake, and knowing John, Dean seriously doubted that would happen.

With that thought in mind, Dean narrowed his eyes on John, who was pacing the expanse of the motel room, and began to study him as if seeing him for the first time in his life._ Study your enemy and learn all its weaknesses_, came a small voice in the back of his mind. It was one of the first lessons John had taught him when he was younger, and was one Dean had never forgotten.

John, who for all intended purposes seemed formidable, had only two weaknesses, ones which Dean knew only too well. The first was his need to kill the Yellow-Eyed Demon at all costs, and the second was to protect Sam. Those were the only things the eldest Winchester truly lived and would die for, and Dean could use this to his advantage.

Dean shifted in his seat, pushing his shoulders backward to stretch his aching muscles, then tilted his head from side to side to work out the kinks that had gathered there. As he did so, he focused his attention on Deacon, who was sitting opposite of him at the table, and briefly wondered where Bobby had gone to when he left the motel room earlier.

When John and Deacon had come back to the room from wherever they had been, they'd called Bobby outside, and within a matter of minutes, the two had come inside without him. Dean had thought to ask where the older hunter had gone to, but didn't want to give any indication to John that he gave a damn in the slightest. Yet, as time ticked by and Bobby hadn't returned, Dean had to admit his curiosity was getting the better of him.

"Can't keep me locked up here forever, John," Dean snarled, locking eyes with the eldest Winchester. "It's only a matter of time before I break free. Besides, _John_, isn't there a demon you're supposed to be hunting . . . an' Sa — " he stopped short of saying Sam's name, not wanting John to think he could use the youngest Winchester as any sort of leverage to keep him there. "Innocent people who need your protection?"

"Dean — "

"Dominic," Dean corrected, knowing that in a moment of weakness he'd allowed Bobby to call him Dean, but wouldn't make the same mistake with John. The man who stood before him now needed to know that he was no longer Dean, and would make no further concessions in the use of his old name. "That's my name, learn it, use it," he lifted a brow as he glared at John, "or don't even bother tryin' to talk to me."

"Your name's Dean." John strode the short distance to where Dean was sitting, gripped hold of his upper arms, and repeated, "You're Dean Winchester. My son. Sam's brother." His fingers tightened around Dean's biceps. "Say it . . . say you're Dean Winchester."

Dean pursed his lips as he slowly shook his head. "Name's Dominic . . . an' you killed my wife . . . took away my father . . . my family . . . an' I swear to God, I hate you with every damn fiber of my being, you filthy sonuvabitch."

Hearing Dean say this, and also seeing John back away as if punched squarely in the gut, Deacon was on his feet in a shot, ready to diffuse the situation if it got out of control.

"Dean, we didn't kill anyone," Deacon was quick to defend John's actions.

"Tell me, John," Dean hissed, "did ya stick around to salt an' burn their corpses after you killed them all?" He yanked hard on the zip-cuffs around his wrists, wanting nothing more than to break free, wrap his hands around John's throat, and choke the life out of him. "Course you did, all part of the job, isn't it?"

A flicker of remorse flashed in John's eyes, and just as quickly disappeared behind one of the many walls the oldest Winchester had erected to block out everything and everyone except his one true goal of killing the demon who had killed his wife. In life, if it could be said that Dean had built walls to protect himself from being hurt by those he cared about most, then by that same token, John had built a wall of his own that far surpassed even the Great Wall of China.

John turned his back on Dean, took a deep breath, and slowly released it. "If anyone died at the compound, one of Dominic's men killed them. But if they did die, it's no less than what the freakin' bastards deserved for what they did to you an' . . . ." his voice trailed off and Dean heard him swear under his breath. Without saying another word, John turned on his heel and strode out of the motel room with Deacon following behind him.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"John, you have to tell him about Sam," Deacon said as he glanced in the window at Dean and then looked to John. "He has the right to know what Dominic did to his little brother."

"You heard what Bobby said, Deacon," John argued, "an' if Bobby's worried that Dean could actually hurt Sam in his present state of mind, then I'm damn sure not gonna risk my boy's life on the off chance that Dean might just snap out of this."

He took a step closer to Deacon, a gesture that would've had any other person backing down, but Deacon knew John too well to be intimidated by him. Instead, Deacon squared his shoulders, and looked John dead in the eyes with a fearlessness born of many years working at Folsom Prison amongst some of the vilest people imaginable.

"No matter what Dominic did to Dean, there are just some things that aren't gonna change no matter what. Sam is one of them. You start peelin' away the layers of what that madman did to him over the past few weeks, and you'll find that his need to protect Sam is still there." Deacon jabbed John in the chest as his voice raised in anger. "An' you damn well know that Sam is Dean's heart an' soul. That boy would do just about anything for his little brother . . . would die for him. So no matter what torture Dominic forced him to endure, that Dean is still there somewhere deep down inside, searching for you to rescue him still."

"An' what if you're wrong?" John pushed Deacon away from him, and began stalking back and forth as he carefully weighed his options. "What if I take him to see Sam, an' it makes matters worse? Sam is freakin' terrified of him. You saw that as well as I did. Hell, he's barely hanging on as it is at the moment." As John said this, his mind wandered back to what the doctor had told him about his youngest son's physical and psychological injuries.

Several of the wounds on Sam's back had become infected, and although they had cleaned them out and had been giving him the strongest antibiotics possible, Sam had begun to spike a fever. Although the doctors seemed confident that he would recover, they had still warned John of the risks due to the extent of Sam's overall injuries, and John wasn't about to breathe easy until his youngest son's condition improved drastically.

To make matters worse, when Sam's tox screen came back positive for cocaine and heroin, the doctor had told John that pain management in Sam's case was going to be difficult as they could not give him morphine. The doctor went on to explain about drug detox, and all the side effects involved in breaking Sam of the habit, and John was afraid is son wasn't strong enough at the moment to handle all the pain he would have to endure before the withdrawal passed.

Luckily, however, only six of Sam's fingers had actually been broken by Dominic and his men, but the doctor was doubtful that all his fingernails would grow back properly because of the extent of the damage done to them. The best plastic surgeon in the hospital had been called in to repair the damage to his hands and back, but only time would tell how well they would heal.

John had also seen the word_ 'evil'_ that had been etched on his son's chest, and although the plastic surgeon assured him that he would do his best to cover it over, the eldest Winchester had his doubts that it would ever truly disappear all together. And as he saw the word, he was forced to wonder if Dominic had done something similar to Dean.

Yet, for all the horrific damage that the madman had done to Sam, John's heart sank the furthest when he went to see his son after he had come out of surgery. Laying flat on his stomach, with both hands in casts, Sam stared off into space as if he didn't even notice that John was sitting right beside him with his hand resting protectively on Sam's upper arm. The hospital psychologist had explained that often after such traumatic events, it was not uncommon for the victim to experience some form of post-traumatic stress syndrome, and Sam's current state was normal and had been expected by his care givers. To John, Sam's condition was anything but normal, and no matter how many times the doctors assured him that his youngest was getting the best care possible, he still was terrified that Sam wasn't going to make it through this ordeal.

Although John hadn't yet seen the full extent of Dean's injuries, after all that he had learned about Sam's condition, he was fairly certain they would more than likely be just as bad. But as always, his oldest had buried his own pain, using his anger toward John and Sam as the balm he needed to survive. Yet for the complete differences in how both boys had reacted to their mental and physical injuries, John was at an utter loss as to how he should even begin to fix all the damage Dominic had caused to either of them.

"Have to do what I think is best at the moment," John finally added after a long pause, "an' for the time being, I believe we should just concentrate on deprogramming Dean and allow Sam some more time to heal emotionally before I even think to take Dean to see him."

"Well, then we better get back inside," Deacon nudged his head toward the door, "but I have to warn you, John, this isn't going to be easy. We have to be as relentless in deprogramming him as Dominic was in brainwashing him in the first place."

"I know." John rested his hand on the doorknob, but hesitated in actually going inside as he turned back to look at his friend. "This is all my fault," he reluctantly admitted with a deep heartbroken sigh, lowering his gaze to the ground, ashamed for not answering Sam's numerous calls for help. To say that he had been trying to protect his sons by staying away only further added to the guilt that was welling deep inside of him. "Should've come as soon as Sam called, but I really believed I was doing what was best for them both at the time. An' now I've lost both of them . . . how the hell am I supposed to live with that?"

Deacon placed a reassuring hand on John's shoulder, but the look he saw in his friend's eyes told him that Deacon clearly thought that he was wrong in staying away for so long when his sons had needed him. "There's nothin' we can do about that now, John. We just go on from here, an' do everything we can to help them both." Without another word, he pushed John's hand out of the way and went back inside.

John took a deep breath, regained his resolve and followed Deacon. True to his word, Deacon was relentless in his deprogramming of Dean, almost to the point of being cruel, but John understood it was necessary. Pushing aside his many reservations and doubts that they were doing the right thing, John finally joined in, not allowing Dean to get a word in edgewise.

"You're Dean Winchester," Deacon growled as he leaned in, coming face to face with Dean. "John and Sam are your family. The only family you have. Your mother died in a fire, killed by the Yellow-Eyed Demon." John winced hearing this, and was forced to look away as Dean spat in his friend's face. Deacon swiped a hand across his face, wiping away the spittle, and then continued, "You're a hunter, living out of the backseat of an Impala. You have no home except for your car and whatever flea-infested motel room you call home for the night."

"Name's Dom — "

"Like it or not, Dean, that is who you are," Deacon quickly cut him off, "Dean Winchester. Sam's older brother. You have no other family."

"Not tr — "

"We're your family," John jumped in, once again cutting Dean off. "You're my son . . . Sam's brother. Raised you to hunt and protect your brother. You have no other family."

"Not my fa — "

"I'm your father," John growled as he gripped hold of Dean's shoulders and shook him furiously. "The only damn father you'll ever have."

"You have no other family except for John and Sam," Deacon joined in. "You were never married. You had no wife."

"I did," Dean glared at Deacon as he tugged hard on his restraints, "you killed her."

"They killed her," John hollered, his face within mere inches of Dean's. "an' she wasn't your wife. You had no wife."

"Yes, I — "

"No, you didn't," Deacon shouted, his voice drowning out Dean's. "They lied to you."

"Sam's your brother," John was quick to pick up where Deacon's voice trailed off. "The only brother you have. Was your job to protect him. Sam's your brother."

"No, he's a cowardly sonuva — "

"He would die to protect you, Dean!" John narrowed his eyes on Dean, furious that Dominic had made Dean believe Sam would ever allow him to suffer alone. "Damn it, Sam's your brother, and he would d-die to protect you." His voice hitched in his throat, knowing how close to the truth that one simple statement was, and had to turn away before he struck out at his oldest son in anger.

"He left you . . . left me," Dean sneered, eyes glinting with fury as John swung back to face him. "Admit it, he's a freakin' coward who only ever cared about himself."

"That's not true," John defended, suddenly feeling as if the tables were turned and Dean had the upper hand. "He did everything in his power to try an' protect you."

"It wasn't good enough," Dean jeered, kicking out at John, catching him in the shin with his boot. "Wasn't damn near close to being good enough."

"Dean — "

"My name_ is_ Dominic," Dean shouted, this time not allowing either John or Deacon to cut him off. "An' you will freakin' call me by it. Finally had a home. A_ home_," he stressed the word, making certain John knew he would never forgive him for taking that away from him. "Had a wife who loved me an' a family who needed me. You took that from me. You did." He raised his bound hands and jabbed an accusatory finger in John's direction. "Couldn't jus' let me be happy for once could you, you rotten sonuvabitch."

"That wasn't your home, Dean," John uttered, his voice strained, feeling the venomous sting of his son's words. "You don't have a home, an' the closest thing you ever had to one is the Impala."

"I hate you," Dean hissed through clenched teeth, balling his hands into tight fists. "Hate you an' Sammy."

"Well, that's too damn bad, cause you haven't got anyone else. No other family but us. Got that Dean? Me an' Sam are your family, whether the hell you like it or not," John snarled as he clenched and unclenched his hands, consciously controlling the growing desire to reach out and slam his fist into Dean's face. For several very long moments they fell silent, both glaring at each other with unadulterated fury reflecting in their eyes.

"Where the hell is collegeboy anyway?" Dean asked, quirking a brow as he looked from John to Deacon and then back again. "Huh, did the freakin' coward hightail it back to school the moment he got the chance to ditch me?" Pushing forward in his chair, Dean's bound hands shot forward and he grabbed a hold of the collar of John's t-shirt, pulling John toward him with a hard yank. "Must really suck for you, _John_, to know that you raised such a weak and pathetic son."

Deacon, who must have sensed how close John was to hitting Dean, quickly jumped into the fray once more. Pushing John aside, he gripped hold of Dean's shoulders and leaned in close so their faces were only mere inches apart. Narrowing his eyes menacingly, Deacon's stared long and hard at Dean, and then shook his head in disgust. "Won't have you talkin' about your brother like that, Dean. You have no freakin' idea what he went through for you, an' I'll be damn if I sit here and listen to you talk about him like that anymore. Got me, Dean?"

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" Dean turned questioning eyes to John, but when John remained stonily silent, he looked back to Deacon.

"Your brother tried his damnedest to save you, an' they nearly killed him for it." Deacon fell silent for a moment, allowing what he had just said to sink in before he further added, "They tortured him, drugged him, an' pretty much left him for dead." Breathing hard, he jabbed his index finger into Dean's chest. "So don't you sit here an' bad mouth him anymore or so help me God, I swear I'll hit you myself."

Dean's lips began to quiver as he digested what Deacon had just said, the cold, hard glint leaving his eyes as his face faltered for the briefest of moments. For a fraction of a second, John caught a glimpse of the old Dean trying desperately to reemerge, but as quickly as it was there, it disappeared as Dean's anger returned.

"You're lyin', my Father . . . my family would never do that," Dean defended his new family as he began to restlessly tug on his restraints. "They love me . . . care about me, an' you're just a bunch of filthy liars."

"It's the truth, Dean," Deacon tried again, clearly not willing to believe that Dean was too far gone at the moment to see what they had done to Sam. "They beat the hell out of Sam. Drugged him, an' had every intention of killing him."

"No! You're freakin' lyin'." Dean adamantly shook his head. "An' my name's Dominic, you sonuvabitch."

"Damn it, Dean, they hurt him so freakin' bad. So freakin' bad," Deacon's voice trembled as he reiterated the last words, the pain he felt for Sam clearly etched in his dark eyes.

"Don't believe you. You're tryin' to turn me against my Father . . . my family, an' I won't let ya."

"Ripped off all his damn fingernails . . . beat him with a chain . . . got him hooked on drugs."

"My Father's word is law. I will obey the Father. I am nothing without the Father to guide me. I live to serve only the Father," Dean mumbled repeatedly as he began to slowly rock back and forth in his chair. His mantra grew louder as Deacon pressed further.

"He could die, Dean. Your brother, the one you swore to protect with your life, could die."

"My Father's word is law. I will obey the Father. I am nothing without the Father to guide me. I live to serve only the Father." Dean raised his bound hands, cupped his chin and pressed his fingers into his ears to drown out the sound of Deacon's voice.

"You want your little brother to die, Dean?" Deacon shouted, "does he mean that little to you?"

"My Father's word is law. I will obey the Father. I am nothing without the Father to guide me. I live to serve only the Father." Dean squinched his eyes closed as he continued to rock back and forth in his chair. "My Father's word is law. I will obey the Father. I am nothing without the Father to guide me. I live to serve only the Father."

Deacon opened his mouth to say more, but John was quick to cut him off.

"Deacon," John snapped, clear warning in his tone as he gave a curt shake of his head.

"No, John, he has the right to know," Deacon argued as John grabbed hold of his uninjured arm and dragged him toward the front entrance.

Once outside, John slammed the door and turned to glare at his friend. "I know what you're tryin' to do, but it isn't working. He's too freakin' messed up at the moment to believe anything we say about Sam. We have to try something else."

"No, John, you're wrong about this," Deacon quickly defended his point, "Sam is what's going to bring Dean back from this. Not you . . . not me . . . or anything else for that matter, an' Dean needs to know what they did to him."

John took a step toward his friend, his features turning menacing as he continued to glare at his friend, determined that he was right on the matter. "I have to think of both of my boys in this matter. Sam's not strong enough at the moment to face Dean, an' I'm not about to subject him to anything more until he is."

"I think you're wrong, John," Deacon hollered back, not caring if he was making a scene outside the motel room. "Think they need each other now more than ever."

"Well," John's voice rose to match his friend's in anger, "for whatever reason, Sam is absolutely terrified of Dean, an' until we find out why, Dean is not going anywhere near him. So we're gonna have to find another way to bring Dean out of this, got me?"

Deacon was about to argue further, but the sound of John's phone ringing cut him short. John yanked his cell phone out his pocket, glanced at the screen, saw it was Bobby and quickly jabbed the button to connect.

"What's up, Bobby? How's Sam?" John asked, and held his breath waiting for the older hunter to respond.

"You need to get down here now, John," came Bobby's clipped response. "Things are goin' really bad, an' Sam needs you."

"I'm on my way." John hung up the phone, and without another word to Deacon, he grabbed the keys out of his pocket and ran to his truck.


	31. Chapter 31

so, another chappy...thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! they really mean the world to me!! bambers;)

_Chapter Thirty-One_

"Can't go in there yet," Bobby uttered as John rushed toward Sam's hospital room. "The doctor's running some tests." Taking off his baseball cap, the older hunter raked his fingers through his hair, and then replaced the hat on his head, drawing the brim down low over his brow. "Guess cause of the drugs, his heart rate is freakin' screwed all to hell." He hesitated for a moment, lowering his head so John couldn't look him in the eye. "They think he might've suffered a mild heart attack."

"A heart attack?" John stared dumbfounded at his friend. "He's only twenty-two freakin' years old."

"I know," Bobby heaved a weary sigh, scrubbing his hand across his eyes, "but because of all the trauma he suffered, combined with the drugs, they said that it wasn't completely unexpected."

"When can I see him?" John cracked open the door to Sam's room, and whatever he'd thought to expect when he arrived at the hospital flew right out the window when he saw his youngest son writhing uncontrollably in his hospital bed. Every movement Sam made, no matter how slight, elicited horrible cries of pain to rip from his lips. Sam's hospital gown and hair were literally soaked with sweat, his face was flushed, making it appear as if he had a raging fever as his arms and legs twitched and jerked of their own accord. Another cry of pain issued past Sam's lips as he curled over to his side, clutched a hold of his stomach and began to retch violently.

"They should be done soon."

John's breath caught in his throat, tears burning at his eyes, and he was forced to look away. He'd never actually witnessed anyone going through withdrawal before, and never thought he'd live to see the day that one of his own sons was so out of control of their own body.

"Can't they do anything for him, Bobby?" John finally managed to utter as he closed the door to the room, his voice thick and strained with emotion.

Bobby, who's features were just as stricken as John knew his to be, turned to John and placed a reassuring hand on John's shoulder. "They were waiting for you to get here. Said they need ya to sign some papers saying that they can administer methadone to Sam to help ease some of his pain while he's detoxing."

"Methadone?" John quirked a brow as he turned a questioning eye to his long time friend. "Thought they said they couldn't give him anything for the pain, an' now you're tellin' me they wanna give my boy another drug?"

Scrubbing a hand across his beard, the older hunter looked to John, and then gave a subtle shrug. "From what the doctors say, it could be fatal if Sam comes down from heroin withdrawal on his own. So they need to taper him off of it with methadone."

"An' how long will it take?" John asked, knowing he had no choice in the matter.

"About five to seven days."

"An' do they think he's . . . ." John's voice trailed off as he recalled how the doctors had mentioned his son's first stay at the hospital. A single tear slipped down his cheek as he remembered the doctors telling him how Sam had surgery for internal injuries and then his spleen had ruptured, and had to be removed by emergency surgery. "Is he strong enough to survive this?"

Bobby was silent for a moment, which left little doubt in John's mind that his friend wasn't certain that Sam would be able to overcome what Dominic had done to him. With a heavy sigh, he finally uttered, "He's your son, John. One of the strongest people I know, an' if anyone can pull through this kinda thing, it's Sam."

"An' what about Dean?"

Again, Bobby was silent for a moment, and John could tell he was weighing his words very carefully. "Think he pretty damn messed up at the moment. But in truth, I don't think it's all Dominic's fault, think some of that blame has to fall at yer feet."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" John's voice rose in anger, and as he glanced around and noticed people starting to stare in their direction, he quickly lowered his voice. "I'm not to blame for what that madman did to my boys. Yeah, sure, I didn't come right away when Sam called, but I was only tryin' to protect them."

"Not talkin' about that, John," Bobby clenched his fists, his own anger ignited as he glared at John. "Know you've done yer damnedest to protect those boys. But to you, they've always been soldiers first, and sons second. The way I figure it is, Dominic had to have some sort of way in . . . somethin' that was eatin' Dean up inside . . . somethin' he could play upon, manipulate to his advantage."

"Men like Dominic don't need an in," John argued, jabbing Bobby in the chest with his index finger. "They torture someone relentlessly until that person breaks, starve their victims, deprive them of sleep, an any other despicable act they can think of to torture them . . . an' no matter what you say, none of that is my fault."

Bobby pushed John's hand away, not about to back down from his standpoint on the matter. "Maybe so, John, but Dominic's not the one who made Dean think he was good for nothing more than being a good little soldier and watching over Sam. You did that," he took a step closer to John, looking him squarely in the eyes, "you did. An' now it's yer job to fix it, cause all the damn deprogramming in the world isn't gonna freakin' change the fact that, that boy was broken inside way before Dominic ever laid eyes on him."

"Did what I thought was right for my boys," John adamantly defended how he'd raised his two sons. Of course, he knew their lives were anything but perfect and normal, but at least he hadn't chosen to let them go out blindly into the world, not telling them of the things that stalked and killed their prey in the night. No, he had made sure his sons could defend themselves from any evil creature that might be lurking just out of sight. But as he looked toward his son's room once more, knowing Sam was lying helpless in the hospital bed as nurses and doctors hovered over him, he painfully realized that he had failed them miserably as a father.

"No, you did what was right for you," Bobby hollered, confirming John's own thoughts. "You were so damn hellbent on killin' ol' Yellow-Eyes, that somewhere along the lines ya lost track of the fact that they needed you, just as much as you need them."

"Just freakin' back off, Bobby, they aren't your boys, an' I'm not gonna stand here any longer, listenin' to you tell me what a freakin' crappy job I've done raising them."

"You're right, they're not my boys, but just cause they ain't my blood, doesn't mean I don't give a damn what happens to them . . . an' sometimes I begin to wonder if I care about them a whole helluva lot more than you do."

Something inside John snapped, his scarcely controlled anger turning to blind rage, and he grabbed hold of Bobby and slammed him against the wall. "You aren't their damn father, Bobby, an' no matter how freakin' much you hate the idea that I am, it's not gonna change things." Balling his hand into a fist, he made to smash it into Bobby's face, but the older hunter caught his hand mid-strike.

"Hit me if ya think it's gonna make you feel better, but ya know damn well, if what I was sayin' wasn't the truth, you wouldn't be so damn pissed off."

"Gentlemen," came a stern female voice from behind John, and he swung to look at a nurse who had just exited Sam's room. "If you can't keep your voices down, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the hospital immediately."

"How's my son?" John asked, disregarding what the nurse had just said, "wanna see my boy now."

"He's doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances, Mr Wilkinson." She glanced down at Sam's chart, flipped through the pages, and then looked back up at John. "Since Sam is unable to consent to the administration of methadone, we need your permission to start him on the drug." The nurse handed John the clipboard, and showed him where he should sign. Not having any other choice in the matter, John quickly scrawled his name on the page. "It usually takes about five to seven days to wean him off the methadone while he is detoxing, and it should lessen some of his symptoms of withdrawal."

"An' what happens after that?" John asked as he felt Bobby rest a hand on his shoulder.

"If all goes well, a drug treatment program, an' we start intensive psychological therapy." The nurse paused for a moment, and gave John a reassuring smile, allowing him the time to digest what she had just said. "Your son has been through a very traumatic ordeal, and from what we have witnessed so far, he is suffering from post-traumatic stress. He's hasn't been sleeping, eating or talking since he was admitted to the hospital yesterday."

"How long will all that take?" John muttered as he stared at the form he'd just signed, the page blurring as tears flooded his eyes.

"Sir, there's really no way to tell how long it will take. Could be months, could be years. We just have to take it one day at a time."

John looked up at the nurse, his eyes narrowing on her as the impact of her words struck him full force. "Your saying it could take years for my boy to recover from this?" Even as he said this, John couldn't believe his son might not recover for a long time to come.

"All I'm saying is that we can't put a time frame on his recovery." She held out her hand and took the clipboard back from John. "It's very important that he has a strong supportive network of family and friends around while he recovers." She nudged her head toward the door. "You can go in and see him in a few minutes, after we administer the methadone." With that said, she turned on her heel, and walked back inside Sam's room.

"Bobby, I need you to go back an' help Deacon with Dean," John mumbled without turning to face his friend. "Sam needs him . . . they need each other."

"Alright, John," Bobby replied without hesitation, and with head hung low, he headed toward the elevator.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

After the doctor and nurses left Sam's room, John stood at the doorway afraid to move any further into his son's hospital room. Although they had changed Sam's bedclothes and sheets, he was still sweating profusely, and even after giving him the methadone, he was still twitching and jerking spasmodically. The only thing that seemed to lessen with the drug was the cries of pain that John had heard earlier, and that did little to alleviate the growing pain burning a way a hole in John's heart.

Slowly, John crossed the expanse, and took a seat beside Sam. He reached out to touch his son's arm, hesitated and pulled back. Lowering his head, he rested his chin against clasped hands as he watched Sam intently. With hazel eyes glazed over in pain, it didn't appear as if Sam knew he was even there.

"Sam," he began, not really knowing what to say, but knew his son needed him, so said the first thing that came to mind. "I should've came when you called . . . if I had, none of this would've happened to you. You and your brother needed me, an' I wasn't there . . . have never been there when you needed me most."

He looked to Sam again, hoping to see some sign that his son had heard or understood what he'd just said, but a blank stare was all he saw instead. "Your brother's in really bad shape, but you know Dean, even if he was damn near death, he'd never let you know it." A wry laugh caught on John's lips as he wiped away the tears slipping down his cheeks. "An' truthfully, I'm terrified as all hell to see what that monster did to him, but I'm thinkin' it had to be pretty damn bad to mess up his mind like it did."

A small cry of pain escaped Sam's cracked and bruised lips as he continued to jerk around in bed, but other then that he still remained deathly quiet. John finally gave in to his need to comfort not only Sam but himself as well, and reached out and touched his son's arm. Feeling Sam's trembled beneath his fingertips was almost John's undoing, and he had to look away as more tears cascaded down his cheeks.

With every ounce of sheer willpower he possessed, John swallowed down his own pain, and refocused his attention on his son. "The thing is, I don't know how to reach him, Sam . . . he's so damn angry," another half-laugh, half-cry issued from John's mouth as he gently squeezed Sam's arm, "I'm used to arguing with you . . . hell, that's never been a problem for us. But with Dean . . . well, he's always been . . . he's always done whatever I've asked without question." John drew his hand away and slammed his fist down hard against his thigh, hating himself at the moment for being exactly what Bobby had said he was. "An' I know damn well, he's the only one who can help you through this . . . but who's gonna help him?"

John looked to his son once more, praying for all he was worth, that he would see some sign of recognition in his son's eyes, but the same vacant stare met his steady gaze. "Damn it, Sammy, what the hell did that freakin' monster do to you. You have to come out of this . . . you just have to. You an' Dean are the only ones I've got left . . . everything I've ever done . . . every damn thing, was for you an' your brother. Jus' wanted you to be safe . . . never meant for this to happen to you. An' I'm sorry . . . so damn sorry. God, please jus' talk to me, give me some damn sign you're gonna be okay."

A sudden beeping noise coming from the heart monitor caught John's attention, and within a few moments, several nurses and doctors rushed into the room.

"What's wrong with him?" John shouted as he was pushed aside, and the doctors started checking Sam over. "Damn it, answer me! What the hell's wrong with my son?"

"Sir, you have to leave," the same nurse who had spoken to him earlier, grabbed hold of his arm, and tried to lead him to the door.

John jerked free from her grasp, and stood his ground, not about to leave his son alone again. "Not going anywhere till someone tells me what's happening to my son."

"I'm afraid your son's heart's stopped," the nurse finally replied, apparently realizing that John wasn't about to do as she asked. "Now I need you out of here, so they can work on him."

"His heart? No . . . he — he can't die . . . please, I'm beggin' you, don't let him die on me now." John slowly backed away, and butting up against the wall, he slid down onto the floor, and watched helplessly as the doctors struggled to revive his son.


	32. Chapter 32

so, another chappy...sorry about the delay, i just got my computer back after it fried completely...thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! they really mean the world to me!! bambers;)

_Chapter Thirty-Two_

"So what did the doctor say?" Deacon asked in a weary tone, sounding completely worn out from trying his damnedest to get through to Dean.

John's grip on his cell phone tightened as he glanced at his youngest son, restlessly shifting around in his hospital bed. "S-said the worst of it should pass in a couple of days." He pulled the phone away from his ear and held it to his chest as tried to regain his composure. Swallowing down his pain, he reined in his growing fears that Sam wouldn't survive, and returned the phone to his ear. "He's in the ICU an' they're monitoring his heart, an' doin' everything possible to make sure he's comfortable . . . whatever the hell that's suppose to mean as he's writhing around in bed as if he were on freakin' fire."

"Seen a lot of men in jail goin' through withdrawal, John, an' I'm sure he'll be okay," Deacon tried to sound reassuring, but came off sounding more worried than anything else. "It jus' takes time for all the drugs to work their way out of his system."

"Don't really give a rat's ass about some freakin' guy detoxing in prison. My boy didn't choose to take drugs, they were forced on him," John snarled in anger, and instantly regretted it, knowing that without Deacon and Bobby's help, he would be totally lost.

"I know that, John, I'm just sayin' that the doctors know what they're doin'."

"Jus' need him to be okay . . . need them both to be okay." He leaned heavily against the wall, feeling as if at any moment his legs might give out and he'd crumble to the floor. "They're good boys . . . always lookin' out for others, an' that sonuvabitch jus' took that all away from them . . . from me."

"We just need to stay the course, knock Dean down like Dominic did, an' then build him back up again . . . he's still in there John, a little more damaged and bruised than before, but we can reach him. I know we can."

"Has he . . . ." John's voice trailed off as he thought of Dean, and recalled the unadulterated anger he'd seen in his oldest's green eyes. "Has he asked where I am?"

Deacon hesitated just long enough for John to know without a shadow of a doubt that Dean hadn't even wondered where he was. "No, all he keeps saying is that damn brainwashing crap that Dominic fed to him."

"Has Bobby been able to get through to him at all?"

"Nope . . . not really sure why, but he won't even look in Bobby's direction. An' if he tries to talk to him, Dean just raises his voice, an' spews that 'Dominic is a god' crap even louder."

"Huh, that's interesting." To John that seemed to make perfect sense. Although Bobby had always been close to both John's sons, he and Dean had always had a indelible bond that John had just never shared with his eldest. At one point, John had even been slightly jealous of their friendship, knowing that Dean would search Bobby out if he ever had a serious problem, instead of coming to John. "Make sure Bobby keeps talkin' to him. Dean may not like it right now, but he does listen to what Bobby says. He always has."

"Will do."

"Gonna stay here a couple more hours, an' I'll give you a call before I'm ready to leave so you can come an' keep an' eye on Sam." John paused a moment, thinking about Dominic still on the loose, knowing the madman was more than likely looking to even the score. He couldn't afford to leave either of his sons alone. In Sam's condition, the cult leader could easily finish him off, and with Dean's mind so messed up, he would probably follow Dominc blindly, and if John lost track of his eldest, he highly doubted he would ever see him again. "Can't afford to leave either of them alone at the moment, Deacon."

"Gotcha, will be waiting for your call."

Deacon hung up, and then dialed the number of a local pizza parlor. After placing his order and giving them the room number of the motel, he snapped his cell phone shut, dropped it back into his pocket, and turned to head back inside the motel room. With a hand on the doorknob, he paused, heaving a bone-weary sigh as he thought of the long road ahead for both Winchester boys. In truth, he had seen many men suffering from withdrawal in Folsom Prison, and it was never a pretty sight. With all Sam's injuries, it would only make matters a lot worse, and his heart broke for the younger man, knowing the excruciating pain he would have to endure to recover.

With Dean, Deacon hadn't yet seen all the damage Dominic had done to him, and that was what was making him hesitate in going back inside now. To begin to make Dean understand what had happened to him, Deacon knew that Dean needed to be confronted with all the torture that had been inflicted on him, and then he could build from there. But Deacon wasn't so certain that he could stomach much more of having to witness all the cruelty that the cult leader had inflicted on the two boys. After several very more long moments of indecision, Deacon finally gave another deep sigh, and headed inside.

Careful to show no outward sign of emotion, Deacon determinedly strode to where Dean was sitting, and leaned in closer to the younger man. Dean narrowed his eyes menacingly, and glared at Deacon.

"Need to shave my head," Dean ground out through clenched teeth.

"Not gonna happen." Deacon replied, his tone cool to the point of uncaring.

"Can't keep me tied up forever." Dean shrugged, apparently undeterred by his current circumstances. "I'll just do it when you let me go."

"You're wrong, Dean." Deacon gripped hold of Dean's shoulders and leaned in further. "There's really nothin' sayin' I ever have to just let you go." He cast a glance over his shoulder at Bobby, and nudged his head for the older man to come forward. "Give me your knife, Bobby," He ordered as he held out his hand, and waited until Bobby handed it to him.

"If you're tryin' to scare me, it ain't gonna work." Dean shifted restlessly in his seat, trying to wriggle free of Deacon's hold on his shoulder, but in his weakened condition, couldn't manage it.

"Naw, not tryin' to scare you, that's what Dominic did." Deacon eyed Dean for a moment, praying with every breath that he was doing the right thing. "I just wanna take a look at how nice your new Daddy treated ya. I mean, he had to be pretty damn sweet for you to forget the only family you've ever had."

Lifting the collar of Dean's shirt away from his body, Deacon sliced through the thin material, and had to stifle a gasp when he noticed all the welts, bruises, and wounds that had been stitched closed. His steady gaze lingered overly-long on the word '_weak' _that had been seared into the younger man's chest, and then trailed slightly upward to where it appeared as if Dean's skin had been cruelly torn apart and then stitched back together. As Deacon swallowed back the bile that was rising in the back his throat, he ripped away the rest of Dean's shirt, and forced a fake cough to hide the sounds of Bobby gagging at the sight of all the torture Dean had suffered.

Slowly, Deacon circled Dean, his fingers lightly trailing over the raised brand the cult leader had burned into his upper arm, and then proceeded around to the back of the chair, coming to stand directly behind the younger man. Pressing his fingertips into Dean's shoulder blades, he gently pushed him forward, and was forced to turn away when he saw the massive welts that covered the hunter's back. He didn't need to look any further to know that Dean had survived Hell, and now completely understood why Dean's mind had finally snapped, and he'd accepted Dominic's word as law.

He'd also noticed in his appraisal of Dean's condition, that the younger man was now extremely thin for his stature, and must have lost over twenty pounds in the past several weeks. "You hungry, Dean?" he asked as he came around to stand in front of the younger hunter again.

"No," Dean replied, lowering his head for the first time, and Deacon took that as a sign that he was truly starving and was ashamed at his own weakness.

"No, because you're not hungry? Or no, cause you're afraid to eat?"

"Not afraid to freakin' eat!"

"Oh, then it must be because your freakin' Father isn't here to tell you that it's okay, right? Can't make that decision on your own? Are you really that pathetic, Dean?"

"Deacon, that's enough," Bobby snapped, clear warning in his tone, but Deacon completely ignored him.

"Come on, Dean, it's only food. Certainly you can make that kind of decision on you own. I mean, hell, even little five-year-old can decide if he's hungry or not without someone telling him if he can eat."

Without raising his head, Dean glared up at Deacon, the fury he was feeling inside, unmistakable in his stormy eyes. "Don't need anyone to tell me when to eat . . . an' the name is Dominic."

"So starvin' yourself for the last four weeks was your brilliant little brain storm?" Deacon taunted, hating himself for having said it, but knowing it was imperative at this point not to back down.

"Dean, ya gotta eat somethin'," Bobby finally managed to say, "hell, yer practically skin an' bones."

"Naw, he doesn't need to eat, Bobby," Deacon jeered, "he's on the new 'I only eat when the Father orders me to eat' diet. Bet Dominic has you so damn well trained, you can't take a leak unless he says it's okay first."

A sudden rap on the door, stopped Deacon short from saying anything more, and he strode to the window, pulled back the curtains, and noticed the pizza delivery boy waiting at the door. Opening the door only far enough that he could slip outside, he quickly paid for the food, and returned inside. Long strides carried Deacon over to the first of the two beds, and he set the box down, opened the lid and grabbed a huge slice of pizza dripping with gooey cheese.

As he munched away on the slice, he eyed Dean for a moment, watched him hungrily lick his lips, and then nudged his head toward the pizza box. "Wanna slice, Bobby? Has extra cheese and pepperoni on it." Almost reluctantly, Bobby gave a curt nod of his head, and a look of understanding passed between the two as the older hunter strode forward and grabbed himself a slice.

"Dean, why don't ya just — "

"He's not hungry, Bobby," Deacon quickly cut the older man off before he could offer Dean any pizza. The choice to eat had to be Dean's. Dominic had taken that away from him, and now slowly but surely, they needed to make Dean understand that he was in control of his own actions. "Besides, Dominic's not here telling him it's okay to eat, an' we've already seen that he can't make that kind of huge decision on his own." He took another bite, forcing himself to grin and swallow, stomach churning at the thought of eating in front of Dean when he knew the younger man was absolutely starving. "Damn, this is good," he muttered as he finished off the first slice, wiped his hands on a napkin and went for another piece.

Dean lowered his head even further, his chin resting on his chest as he tried not to look at the pizza box, or the two men eating in front of him. However the moment, Deacon had opened the box, the tangy, spicy scent filled the air, and Dean's stomach rumbled uncomfortably as his mouth began to water. As the Father's voice rang clearly in his ears, warning him what would happen if he disobeyed him, his gaze ticked back and forth between the two men eating and the box laying open on the bed. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the growing hunger pangs, but couldn't drown out the savory aroma that filled his senses.

"Can I . . . I want . . . I'm hungry," Dean finally blurted out, and as he said it, he shuddered. Immediately, he glanced over his shoulder, fully expecting the Father to barge through the front door and punish him severely for being so weak and giving in to the people who had killed their family members.

"You sure, Dean?" Deacon asked, his tone softening slightly. "Cause no one has the right to force you into doing something you don't want to do." Picking up a piece of pizza, and held it out to Dean.

"No," Dean muttered, a sad frown creasing his brow as he took the slice from Deacon, "you're wrong about that, everyone's always told me what to do . . . an' like a good little soldier, I've always obeyed."

"Then it's about time you start thinkin' for yourself, wouldn't ya say?" Deacon gave him a genuine smile, which faltered when Dean didn't even try to smile back. "I'm not saying that John or Sam have always been right, Dean, but I know for a fact that they love you, an' would never hurt you like Dominic did. You need to think about that before you lay down your allegiances to a man who would kill you just because he could."

Dean heaved a defeated sigh, and shook his head. "Jus' because a person doesn't put a gun to your head an' pull the freakin' trigger, doesn't mean he isn't killin' you. It jus' means he's doin' it more subtly." Lowering his head once more, Dean tossed the slice of pizza on the floor.


	33. Chapter 33

so, another chappy...hopefully everyone is still enjoying...thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! they really mean the world to me!! bambers;)

_Chapter Thirty-three_

Dean stood looking at his reflection in the small vanity mirror in the motel bathroom, and couldn't help the involuntary shudder that washed over him. Beneath the beginnings of a scruffy beard, his face was gaunt and lacked any color that would make him appear healthy in the slightest. His cheeks were hollowed, cheekbones predominate, making his lifeless green eyes appear all the larger_. _Dark smudges ringed his eyes, attesting to the severe lack of sleep, and he knew if he didn't get some serious rest soon, he was going to crash.

It had been at least four days since John had brought him here, and between the eldest Winchester, Bobby, and Deacon, hadn't allowed him much more sleep than he'd gotten while staying at the compound. The only thing that brought a slight smile to his haggard features was the fact that they were starting to look almost as bad off as he felt.

Scrubbing his fingers through the bristly stubble on the top of his head, Dean's stomach churned violently as a waved of panic consumed him. Quickly turning on his heel, he frantically searched for a shaver to remove the dark growth of hair, but only spotted a bar of soap and shampoo in the shower. Reluctantly, he shrugged out of his clothes, careful not to look at all the marbleized bruising on his chest or the word that had been etched into his skin, and stepped into the bathtub.

As the hot water hit his bruised and battered body, another tremor of fear worked its way down his spine, and he shivered despite of the steamy heat. Grabbing his toothbrush off the ledge, he hastily began brushing his teeth as he simultaneously scrubbed his body with the bar of soap. _Come on, Dean, you only got five minutes, work faster or you're not gonna finish. _He threw the toothbrush down and quickly grabbed for the shampoo, still working to scrub his aching body clean, but knew he was rapidly running out of time. His breath came in short panted bursts as he glanced toward the door, fearing that the Father would enter the room at any moment and torture him again for not doing the task fast enough.

With the soap barely out of his hair, he promptly turned the water off, and nearly tripped in his race to get out of the tub as quickly as he possibly could. Shaking uncontrollably, he grabbed for the towel on the rack, and wiped the remaining soap from his overly-thin frame. Fearfully, he looked to the door once more, and released a grateful sigh that he'd managed to complete the task without further punishment.

His hand slipped across the word etched on his chest, and not having the strength any longer to fight it back, tears welled in his eyes and slipped down his cheeks. Knees buckling, he crumbled to the ground and began to cry in earnest as his thoughts turned to Sam.

Not once in all the time since John had found him had Sam come to see if he was all right. He's waited, had held his breath every time someone had walked through the front door, but any hope that he might have had that Sam still cared, always ended in crushing heartache.

Every time Dean had brought his little brother up to John, the eldest Winchester diverted the conversation back to him. Of course, Dean knew in his anger and pain, he had cruelly called Sam every name possible to hurt John, and could see it was taking a toll on the older man. And for what it was worth, Dean realized that John was beginning to look just as worn out and haggard as Dean knew he appeared.

Dean's thoughts circled back to Sam, wondering where he was at the moment, and grimaced at the idea that he'd probably hightailed it back to Stanford. As he brushed away the tears streaking down his face, he imagined Sam sitting in some classroom, laughing and smiling with friends as Dean struggled through the cold-sweats and crippling fear the mere thought of taking a shower unwillingly evoked. But the sad truth was, no matter if Sam had left him behind to suffer cruelly at the hand of the Father, Dean would have gladly endured it all again to see Sam walk through the door at that moment. And he knew that made the Father right about him, knew that made him weak and pathetic, but Sam was all that he had ever had, and although those feelings could be pushed aside for a while, they never completely disappeared.

Yet, for as much as he wished to see his little brother again, just the mere thought of him brought about such feelings of intense hurt, anger and betrayal that it nearly staggered Dean. Sam hadn't cared, hadn't even tried to find him in all the time he was missing. John's unwillingness to talk about Sam spoke in utter volumes about Sam's lack of concern, and further confirmed the Father's goading that no one cared if Dean lived or died.

Sure, John could pretend as if he cared now, but Dean understood from a lifetime of experience that it wouldn't be long before the older man disappeared out his life again. Dean had given away everything he had, or ever wanted for himself for the sake of family, and they'd all betrayed him in the end. There was really nothing John could say or think to say that would change that, and it made him believe all the more in what the Father had offered him.

Slowly, Dean rose to his feet, and got dressed. With head hung low, he mentally prepared himself for another round of arguing with John and Bobby as exited the bathroom. The moment Dean walked into the outer room, John was on his feet and heading toward him with Bobby following close behind.

"Take a seat, Dean," John nudged his head toward the chair that they had placed in the middle of the room.

"You ain't callin' me Dominic, I ain't takin' a damn seat anywhere," Dean hissed through clenched teeth.

"You are gonna do just like I told ya to do," John snapped, and grabbed hold of Dean by the arm, dragging him over to the chair.

"Huh, didn't eat jus' cause you told me to, so what the hell makes you think you can get me to sit down just cause you demand it, John."

"Dean, jus' take a seat," Bobby grumbled, his voice thick and strained with weariness, "cause if I have to, I'll tie ya to the damn chair myself."

Grudgingly, Dean slumped down onto the chair, then crossed his arms and glared defiantly at both men. "What the hell are you even still stickin' around for, John? Aren't there demons that need your attention?"

"Whether you like it or not, Dean, that's what we do. We hunt demons an' other things to keep people safe." John looked him square in the eye, almost daring him to look away as he further added, "That's who you are, that's all you've ever known. Learn it, deal with it, because it isn't gonna change just cause some bastard came along and screwed with your freakin' head."

"Huh, deal with it the way Sam did?" Dean quirked a brow, "hell, that freakin' coward ran off twice, an' I don't see ya chasin' after his sorry ass." That said, Dean flinched, holding his breath as he noticed John clench a fist, certain the older man was going to strike him in anger.

"We aren't talkin' about him," John replied in a deadly calm voice, "an' for what it's worth, he only left once."

Dean hesitated several moments, confused about what John had said, and hoped he would say more about Sam, but John turned his back on him. "You mean he only left you once, but that bastard's left me twice now . . . an' no matter you try an' say, I will never forgive him for that."

"Boy," Bobby broke in on their heated exchance, his own voice rising in anger, "that's your brother your talkin' about, an' I won't let ya talk bad about him again."

"What ya gonna do, Bobby?" Dean turned questioning eyes to the older hunter, "Gonna hit me," he splayed out his arms, showing that he wouldn't even try and defend himself if Bobby did, "hell, go right ahead, it isn't gonna change the truth. Was missin' for a helluva long time, an' he never came for me."

Bobby gripped hold of Dean's shoulders, fingernails biting deep into his skin, and shook him throughly. "Did ya ever stop jus' once to think that maybe he couldn't?"

"What the hell's that suppose to mean?"

"Bobby," John call out, clear warning in his tone as he shook his head. "This isn't about Sam."

"The hell it isn't, John," Bobby swung to face John, and for a briefest of moments, Dean really believed he was going to punch John in the face. "We've done this your freakin' way for four days now . . . haven't brought up Sam once since that first time, an' what's it got us?" The older hunter stood his ground as John took a step closer to him, his own fists clenching. "Dean's more pissed off than ever, an' hell if we're gonna be truthful, Sam's just barely hangin' on."

"What's wrong with Sam?" The words slipped out before Dean could stop them, and although he hated himself for worrying, the second Bobby had said he was barely hanging on, Dean's protective mode kicked in. "Is something wrong with Sammy?" he asked again when neither John or Bobby answered him.

"He did come after you, Dean," Bobby finally responded, apparently knowing that John wouldn't. But once he said this, John couldn't stop him from further adding, "He's in the hospital . . . Dominic an' his men beat the hell out of him, tortured and drugged him . . . an' if we hadn't gotten to him when we did, he would be dead now."

"No . . . no . . no . . . ." Dean shook his head as he began to tremble uncontrollably, his stomach heaving as th bile rose in his throat. "He didn't come after me . . . I - I would've . . . he wasn't there."

"They kept him a separate compound," John stated as he tried to place a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder, only to have Dean jerk away from him. "From everything we've gathered, Dominic planned on killing him and wanted to keep you as one of his children."

Tears welled in Dean's eyes, but he refused to shed them. To do that would mean he believed Sam had come to rescue him. If Dean believed that he had, that would mean that he'd betrayed his little brother in the worst possible way, had cursed him, hated him and wished that he were dead because he was too weak to stand up to Dominic. And if that were true, then Dean knew he would never be able to live with himself.

"No, you're wrong," Dean shook his head more emphatically, "you're tryin' to trick me. Tryin' to make me turn against my family."

"Is it so damn hard for you to believe that Dominic would try an' kill your brother," John snapped, his anger returning full-force as he gripped hold of Dean's shirt and yanked him off the chair. "I mean, the freakin' man killed his own daughter, so what the hell makes you think he wouldn't kill someone else?"

"Sam was never there," Dean desperately tried to break free of the grip John had on him but was too weak to manage it. "He wasn't there."

"He was there, Dean," Bobby argued, not bothering to try and stop John from tightening his grasp on Dean's shirt to pull him even closer. "Tried to save you, an' they beat the crap out of him."

"He was never there . . . I know he wasn't." Dean tilted his head to the side, so he wouldn't have to look John in the eyes or the older man would see how close he was to breaking down. "You can't make me believe it."

John pushed him slightly away, tightened his hold on the collar of Dean's shirt, and ripped it apart. "That freakin' bastard carved . . . ." John's voice trailed off as he got his first good look at all the bruises and healing wounds on Dean's chest. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean noticed his father's lips were trembling and his eyes were brimming with tears. "H-he carved the word 'evil' into your brother's chest, just like burned that word into yours."

"You're lying . . . y-you have to be lying." Dean pushed away from John, and this time the older man let him go. Pulling the tattered edges of his t-shirt back together to hide the hideous mark on his chest, Dean slowly backed away from the two hunters. "He wasn't there . . . the Father's word is law . . . I - I'm not gonna believe you . . . can't believe you." Backed into the corner, Dean slid down the wall, curling his arms over his head as he began to recite the words he'd heard while he was kept locked away in the cell. "My Father's word is law. I will obey the Father. I am nothing without the Father to guide me. I live to serve only the Father . . . My Father's word is law. I will obey the Father. I am nothing without the Father to guide me. I live to serve only the Father . . . ."

Dean's gaze darted around the room, eyes wild and cagey, and Bobby could see how close the younger man was to breaking apart, and also noticed John open his mouth to say something more. Bobby grasped a hold his friend's arm, and gave a firm shake of his head.

"That's enough, John." He nudged his head in Dean's direction. "If we keep goin' the way we are, his freakin' mind's gonna snap, an' if it does, I don't think anything will bring him back from it."

"Damn it, Bobby," glaring at him, John jerked free of his grasp, "we're so damn close. We stop now an' we'll lose everything we've accomplished today."

"You gotta give him time to work through this on his own." Bobby eyed Dean, and inwardly cringed when he saw the younger man, who was more like a son to him, rocking back and forth with his head buried beneath his arms. "He needs time to make sense of everything."

"I'm tellin' ya we need to push him harder cause we already told him all this once before, an' he's actin' as if it's the first time he's heard it."

"You push him any harder, you're gonna break him beyond repair, an' I'm not gonna help you do that to him." With one last look in Dean's direction, Bobby strode to the door, flung it open, and stormed away.

For several long moments, John stared at the doorway, and then finally his gaze shifted to Dean. So lost in his own pain, Dean didn't even seem to realized John was in the room any longer, and anger and sadness welled deep inside John's heart for all his son was suffering. With an unsureness that he'd never before experienced, John trudged to where his son sat curled in a tight ball, and took a seat beside him.

Hesitantly, John lifted a hand and tentatively placed it on Dean's shoulder, but hastily removed it when Dean flinched upon contact. John drew up his knees, and rested his forearms on them as he glanced around the room, searching for the right words to say to reach his eldest son.

"You may not remember this," John began, a ghost of a smile gracing his worn and tired features, "but we used to play baseball together in the backyard of our home almost every night when you were only four." His fingertips trailed a back a forth path across his knee as the memory came into clearer focus. "An' you were really good. Like you were jus' made to play the game." John's hand slid over to touch the top of Dean's right knee, tracing over the long scar he knew was hidden beneath his son's jeans. "But, then you slipped when you were sliding into second base, an' your knee got all torn up on a jagged rock." He let out a wry laugh, thinking how terrified he'd been at that moment when he had seen blood dripping from his little boy's leg, and now the sight of his child in pain and bleeding was so commonplace that it hardly fazed him. "Eighteen stitches, eight internal, ten external, an' even back then you were so damn good at hiding all the pain you were in."

Although Dean didn't act as if he'd even heard a word John was saying, he leaned a little closer to him, and it gave John the encouragement he needed to proceed onward. "On the way home from the hospital, you grabbed hold of my arm, an' as I turned to look at you, I noticed that you were crying for the first time since you hurt your knee. An' then you asked me something I'll never forget for as long as I live." Dean tilted his head to the side, and stared into John's eyes, and to John it almost seemed as if his oldest son was remembering that long ago day as well. "You asked me if God really loved you, why would he allow you to get hurt . . . never really knew the answer to that one back then, Dean, but I think I might've figured it now. Guess the easy answer would be to say that if we can endure the suffering, it makes us stronger. But that's always just been copout answer, an' it's been the answer I've always clung to as I've stood by and watched you get hurt over an' over again. An' in some small way it always alleviated a little of the guilt I'd felt for raising you boys the way I did."

"Felt that if I . . . ." John scrubbed a hand across his bearded face as he tried to rationalize his actions, but could no longer deny all the damage he had done to his children. "You're my son, Dean. One of the only truly good things I've ever done with my life . . . an' I know I've messed up a lot along the way, an' I've hurt you in the process, an' I'm sorry . . . so, damn sorry. An' I know it's too late in coming, an' I don't expect you to forgive me, but I just wanted you to know that I . . . ." John swallowed hard, the words he wanted to say, catching in his throat. He brushed away a stray tear slipping down his cheek as he pushed onward, "I love you an' your brother more than anything else his whole damn world, an' I want both my sons back even if I don't deserve it."

For several very long moments, Dean bit pensively at his lower lip as if mulling over what John had said, and then finally said in a softly whispered voice, "I remember that day." A sad frown creased Dean's brow as he rested his head against the wall. "You said that God was so busy and couldn't always be around to protect people from getting hurt, and so that's what Dad's were for. Yet, even Dad's screw up sometimes, but you'd always be there to keep me from any pain if it was in your power to do so."

"Guess for all I've learned in the last twenty-two years, I was a helluva lot smarter back then."

"Well, I'm a helluva lot smarter now, cause I actually believed you when you said that." Dean pushed himself to his feet, and turned his back on John. "But sometimes when a father screws up continuously like you do, it just goes to prove you don't give a damn."

"If I didn't give a damn, Dean, I wouldn't be here right now." John got to his feet, and grasping hold of Dean's arm, he swung his son to face him. "An' if you an' Sam weren't my whole damn world, I've would've stayed right there inside that freakin' house with Mary an' burned alive along with her."

"Maybe we would've been better off if you had," Dean snapped, but the instant he's said, it, John caught sight of the look of regret in his son's green eyes before they were once again enshrouded in pain and anger.

Although John knew his son more than likely didn't mean it, those words cut deeper into his heart than any other thing that anyone had ever said to him before. "You know what, you're probably right," was all he could think to mutter as he turned on his heel and lumbered out of the motel room.


	34. Chapter 34

Hey, new chappy, hopefully everyone is still enjoying...thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! they really mean the world to me!! bambers;)

_Chapter Thirty-four_

"Shouldn't you be inside with Dean?" Deacon called out as he stepped from John's truck and headed to where John was sitting outside the motel room door.

"It's not like he's going anywhere," John replied evasively, not looking Deacon directly in the eye.

Deacon took a seat beside John, and stretched out his legs, crossing them casually. "Bobby came to the hospital an' told me what happened. An' for what it's worth, I think you were right."

John tilted his head to the side, and glanced at the doorway to their room, then looked back at Deacon. "He hates me . . ..he's my son an' he wishes that I was dead. There is no being right in this situation. Everything we're gonna say or do is just gonna cause more pain for him."

For several seconds Deacon mulled over what John had said, and his heart went out to his longtime friend, knowing how much this was killing him inside. "Think it's time you took him to see Sam. The longer you wait, the harder it's going to be on both of them."

"Sam's not strong enough yet," John tried to argue, but the look in his eyes clearly said he believed the same thing as Deacon.

"I'm not saying that you let Sam see him, but Dean needs to see his brother," Deacon reasoned, in complete agreement with John that Sam might not be physically or mentally strong enough to face Dean yet. "He needs to know that Sam did try to save him from Dominic."

"An' what if it doesn't work? What if only makes matters worse?"

"How much worse can things really become?"

For several very long moments John remained silent, and then gave a curt nod. "Alright, but I need to do this alone."

"Figured as much. I'll give Bobby a call an' tell him you an' Dean are on your way there. An' I'll have him make sure he's gone before you get there."

"Thanks, Deacon."

John slowly rose to his feet, and headed back inside the motel room, leaving Deacon behind. "Dean, want you to come somewhere with me," John said, giving his son the opportunity to say no if he wanted to.

Huddled in the same corner of the room as he'd been sitting in earlier, Dean glanced up at John, confusion registering on his features. "Where are we going?"

John thought for a moment to lie to him, but under the circumstances knew that would further add to Dean's distrust in him. "Gonna take you to see Sam, an' after that if you still want to go back to your new family, I won't even try to stop you."

"You'd really let me go?" Dean quirked a brow, and for the briefest of seconds, John was certain he saw a look of sad disappointment flash in his son's eyes.

"If that's what you really want," John barely managed to choke out, the heartbreak clearly evident in his tone.

"This isn't some kind of trick," Dean asked suspiciously, "when I do leave, an' I promise you that I will, you will just let me walk away?"

"I give you my word."

"Okay, I'll go with you." Dean pushed away from the wall, and slowly made his way across the room to get a new shirt to put on. Once finished, he followed John out to the truck in complete silence.

The ride to the St. Peter's Memorial Hospital was relatively short, and Dean was thankful for that as his nerves were nearly shot by the time they reached the hospital's parking garage. Shifting restlessly in his seat, Dean anxiously eyed the sliding glass doors at the entrance of hospital. Cold sweat prickled at the nape of his neck, and beaded at his brow as he stepped from the vehicle, and if John wasn't there to catch him when his knees buckled, Dean would've fallen flat on his face.

"D-don't think I can do this," Dean voiced in a barely audible whisper, knowing that John wouldn't have brought him to the hospital if Sam had really left him behind, and didn't think he could face his little brother after all he had said and thought about him. "Wanna go back to the motel."

"Yeah, you can do this, Dean." John carefully hitched his arm around Dean's waist to keep him upright, and slowly led him toward the entrance.

Dean's panic rose to a near staggering level as he entered the building and the sliding glass doors shut behind him. His body trembled uncontrollably as his father led him down the long corridor toward his brother's hospital room. As the hallway began to swim before his eyes, Dean broke free of John's hold on him and backed away, butting up against the wall. "Really can't do this."

"It's only a little bit further, Dean," John gently coaxed, "an' you really need to see him. You need to know without a doubt that Sam didn't leave you behind. You owe it to yourself to find it out the truth of things, cause until you do, there's nothing anyone can say or do that'll make things alright again."

Wrapping his arm around Dean's waist again, John led him the rest of the way to Sam's room. John carefully pushed the door open, so as not to let Sam know of their presence, and moved aside so Dean could get his first real glance at his brother in a very long time. Heart lodged in his throat, Dean watched as his little brother fidgeted and jerked around in his bed, every movement evoking some sort of cry of pain. Both of his hands were in casts, his pale and sweat streaked face covered in various cuts and bruises. From what Dean could tell from his vantage point, there wasn't a single area on his little brother's body that wasn't damaged in some way. But the thing that tore his heart out, and had him grabbing hold of John for support was the vacant look he saw etched in Sam's eyes. It was as if his little brother was gone, and only the shell of what he once was remained.

"Is he . . . he's not dying? He — he can't be dying." Dean held his breath as he waited for John to responded, praying for all he was worth that Sam would live.

"Had a couple close calls, but he's doing a little better now."

"Looks like he's in a helluva lot of pain, why aren't they giving him anything for it?" Dean took a tentative step forward into the room, but John grasped hold of his arm, stopping him from going any further.

"Dean, don't think he's strong enough to see you yet," John uttered, and then lowered his head when Dean turned to glare him.

"He's my damn brother, an' I need to be with him," Dean argued, not understanding why John wouldn't want him to be in the same room as his brother when he had brought Dean all the way there to see Sam. "An' he needs to know I'm here for him."

"It's just not a good idea at the moment," John said rather evasively. "He's still very weak, an' the doctors don't want anything upsetting him."

"An' you think seein' me will upset him?" Dean gave a curt nod, then raked his fingers through his stubbly hair. "Which is it," he eyed his father, voice raising in anger and guilt, "my lack hair that'll bother him or is it the fact that I betrayed him, an' wished he were dead cause I was too damn weak to figure out for myself that he would never leave me behind?"

"It's neither of those things, Dean." John licked his lips and then bit at the lower one as if trying to figure out just what he needed to say. "Don't know exactly what Dominic did to him . . . the doctors say it was probably hallucinations brought on by all the drugs that madman forced on him . . . but he's," he shrugged, a look of pity and sadness filling his eyes, "he's afraid of you."

"Afraid of me?" Dean repeated, feeling as if his father had just punched him in the gut, knocking all the wind out of him. "Didn't do anything to him."

"Like I said, it's probably because of all the drugs."

"Drugs? What kind of drugs?" Dean looked to his brother once more, and trembled as another round of guilt ate away at his tattered heart.

"Heroin and cocaine."

"Sam's addicted to heroin and cocaine," Dean breathed, tears flooding his eyes, and he had to look away from his brother or what was left of his heart would shatter.

"That's why they can't really give him anything for the pain. He's detoxing."

"An' his hands?" Dean mumbled as he rubbed away the tears in his eyes and those slipping down his cheeks.

"Some of his fingers are broken," John hesitated, and Dean knew whatever was coming next had to be really bad by the look in his father's eyes. "Dominic ripped off all his fingernails . . . the doctor says he's not sure they'll ever grow back properly."

"What else?" Dean asked, lowering his head in shame, not really sure he wanted to know anymore of what his brother had suffered in the sake of trying to rescue him. "Need to know everything that happened to him."

"Dean . . . ." John's voice trailed away as he looked to Dean, and then his gaze strayed to Sam.

"Said I need to know."

John hesitated for a few more moments before he finally uttered, "All I know for sure is that they beat him all to hell with some kind of chain. An' that was after they'd already beaten him up and left him for dead the first time."

"The first time?" Dean lifted a brow in confusion, his stomach churning violently in protest at the thought that someone would've hurt his brother so horribly and left him to die alone.

"Apparently Sam found out where Dominic was and went after him alone. They beat him up pretty damn bad, and when the hospital called Bobby, they had said that Sam was in a coma, and his spleen had ruptured."

"Don't understand, how did Sam end up back with Dominic then?"

"Bobby thought he was still in a coma, and left him alone. Sam woke up, an' basically left the hospital to search for you again. Dominic's men must've been waiting for him, an' took him to one the cult's compounds to further torture him."

"So, he could barely walk, much less defend himself, an' they kept on hurting him more." Dean sunk to his knees, and resting against the wall for support, he lowered his head and wrapped his arms around it. As hot tears trailed down his cheeks, he shook with pain and heartache. His little brother, the one person he'd sworn to protect with his life, had suffered excruciating torture for him, and Dean had cursed him, believed he'd betrayed him, and he had hated him for it. "How am I supposed to fix this?" he mumbled to no one but himself, and knew in his heart that there was nothing he could say or do to make up for all the horrible things he had wished on his brother in the time he had been kept as Dominic's prisoner. "There's no way I can make this right."

"It's just gonna take time to make things better, Dean, but you're strong an' so is Sam. You both jus' need time to heal."

Dean glanced up at his father, not really believing what he had just said, but was grateful to hear it just the same. "Dad, did you kill Dominic?"

"No," John reluctantly admitted, "after he killed Billy, Sam just started screaming like a madman, an' I had to get him out of there, so Dominic got away."

"Who's Billy?"

"She . . . she was the one who helped us find you both." John rubbed at the tears filling his own eyes as he continued, "She loved your brother. Risked everything to save him, an' in his own way, I believe Sam loved her, too."

Dean gave a nod of understanding as he slowly rose to his feet, and pushed past his father, needing to be with his brother. Once again, John grabbed hold of his arm to stop him from entering the hospital room, but this time Dean wasn't going to be stopped.

Shrugging free of his father's grasp, Dean briefly turned to face John and said, "Either you're gonna let me go in and see him or you're gonna have to drag me from here kicking an' screaming. But either way, Sam is gonna know I am here for him when he needs me."

"Dean — " John tried to argue, but Dean quickly cut him off.

"I'm not leavin' him alone again. . . not goin' anywhere until he can come too." With that, Dean determinedly strode into Sam's room, and closed the door behind him, leaving John outside.

For several long moments, Dean stood at the entrance, afraid to move or breathe for fear that it might somehow upset Sam. But then his need to be nearer to his baby brother won out, and he slowly closed the distance.

"Sammy," he quietly called out, and cursed under his breath at how loud his voice sounded in the quiet of the room. Sam turned his head at the sound of Dean's voice, and Dean's breath caught in his throat when he saw the unmistakable look of fear in his brother's dull, lifeless hazel eyes. Dean held up his arms in a gesture meant to show that he wasn't going to harm Sam in any way, and saw Sam flinch and shy away from him. "Swear to God, I'm not gonna hurt you, Sammy. Jus' wanted to be here for you."

Dean took a seat beside the bed, and reached out to place a hand on Sam's arm, but as Sam cried out and squirmed to the edge of the bed, Dean reluctantly withdrew. Terrified and not knowing what to do to help his brother, Dean glanced toward the door, praying his father would barge in and drag him out of there, knowing that was what Sam would want at the moment. But when his prayer wasn't answered, he refocused his attention on Sam.

"Sammy, I don't know what to say to you that's gonna fix this, but I swear on my life that I would never do anything to hurt you." Dean cautiously edged a little bit closer to the hospital bed, hoping that in some way, his nearness would reassure Sam that he was telling the truth. "If I had known . . . ." He hesitated, lowering his head briefly, terrified that if he said the wrong thing now he might lose his brother forever, but was also just as terrified that if he said nothing he would be swallowed up in deep growing chasm that was his own broken heart. "You have to believe me. I never even knew you were there, Sam. If I did, there would've been nothin' that could've stopped me from getting you out of there."

Dean waited, hoping that his brother would say something, but Sam gave no outward indication that he had even listened much less understood what Dean had tried to convey. "Damn it, Sammy, I didn't know." No longer holding back, Dean grasped hold of his brother's arm, needing to feel some sort of contact with him. "Thought you left me," he lowered his head, his stomach clenching painfully at having to admit his misguided fears aloud, "I mean, I waited an' waited and no one came . . . not Dad . . . not you. An' I was so damn furious . . . so damn furious."

Unconsciously, Dean's grip tightened around Sam's forearm as he recalled being left alone in the prison, and painfully relived in stark detail the moment when he realized no one would care if he lived or died. "Jus' wanted someone to come an' get me outta there . . . an' no one did." Still caught up in his own horrific memories, Dean unintentionally dug his nails deep into Sam's arm, and even though he vaguely heard his brother cry out in pain, he was too lost in his own pain to respond to it. "An' I was weak an' pathetic . . . did things I never thought I'd ever do jus' to stop the pain . . . groveled at his feet . . . God, I . . . ." Hot tears trailed down his cheeks as he remembered how he had kissed the Father's feet. He brushed his free hand across the mark etched beneath his shirt, and realized how true the word was in depiction of him. "He hurt me so damn bad, an' I was so freakin' screwed up that I didn't even blame him for it."

The present slipped away as the Father's menacing voice, taunted and tormented him, overshadowing Sam's screams and drowned out the sound the heart monitor beeping faster and faster. "An' I freakin' believed the sonuvabitch," Dean hollered, his deeply buried rage resurfacing as he unwittingly lashed out at Sam. His fingers slipped around Sam's throat, and tightened as he relived the excruciating pain of his skin being ripped away from the hooks he had been suspended from. "Would've done anything he asked jus' to be one of his freakin' children."

Someone grabbed hold of Dean from behind, and forcefully tried to drag him from the bedside. "Dean! Let go of your damn brother! Now!" John ripped Dean away from Sam and began to pull him toward the door.

The moment Dean heard his father's voice, his terrifying memories washed away, and his knees buckled as he saw the raised, bloody welts on his brother's arm. Sam clutched at his chest, gasping for breath as he fearfully looked in Dean's direction.

"Sam . . . Sammy?" Dean kicked out at his father, fighting with all his strength to get back to where his brother was, but his father's grip tightened in response, and Dean was too weak to break free. "Damn it, let me go! Wanna stay here with Sammy."

Sam's heart monitor rang out a warning, and a few moments later, several doctors and nurses rushed into the room to help him. "Get him out of here," one of the doctors yelled as he glanced back and John and Dean. "He's upsetting our patient. If he doesn't leave now, I'm gonna have someone call security."

"He's leaving," John quickly assured as he continued to drag Dean toward the door.

"What the hell's wrong with him." Dean jabbed an elbow into his father's gut, and momentarily broke free as a rush of air pushed past John's lips. "Sammy, I'm sorry . . . so goddamned sorry," he uttered, tone turning pleading as he tried to get back to his brother's side. "Didn't mean to . . . what the hell did I do . . . please jus' tell me what I did?" he begged of his father as John gripped hold of his arm once more, and yanked him toward the door. "D-don't remember what I did . . . was tryin' to make things better, an' I don't what happened. I swear to God, I don't know what happened."

"I know you don't, Dean," John lowered his voice as he flung open the door and pushed Dean through it. "but we need to let the doctors work on him now."

"Can't leave him . . . he needs to know I'm sorry . . . please, Dad, he needs to know . . . ." Dean sank to his knees, the rest of his strength giving out as overwhelming guilt took a firm hold of him. "Never meant to hurt him . . . never meant to hurt him . . . ." he muttered over and over again as everything and everyone slipped away, leaving him utterly alone in his own unending deluge of pain and heartache.


	35. Chapter 35

Hey, new chappy, hopefully everyone is still enjoying...just so everyone knows this story is very far from being over, lots of healing to cover...thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! they really mean the world to me!! bambers;)

_Chapter Thirty-Five_

"So how's he doing," Bobby asked as he nudged his head in Dean's direction. His heart broke a little bit more for the younger man who sat leaning against the wall outside Sam's hospital room. With knees bent and head buried in folded arms, Dean looked completely lost and broken, and Bobby just wasn't sure if there was anything they could do to reach him.

"Hasn't moved from that spot since I dragged him out of Sam's room." A sad worried frown creased John's brow as he eyed his son. "Finally was able to talk him into eating a little something though, an' he had some coffee." He looked back to Bobby, and Bobby couldn't help but notice how much older and more haggard his longtime appeared. "Course most of it ended back up on the floor, so I'm not sure it did him much good."

"An' Sam?" Bobby gaze shifted back to Dean, and he swallowed hard, knowing that if Dean thought he hurt Sam any worse, he would never be able to forgive himself. "How's he doing?"

"The doctors said he had a panic attack. Which I guess is better than another heart attack, but I really never thought one of my boys would have one of those either."

Bobby place a hand on John's shoulder, trying to comfort him, but knew that the gesture would do nothing to make his friend feel any better. "Deacon's tracking down some leads on where Dominic might be, but so far has come up with nothing," he said, quickly changing the subject to allow John some time to deal with all the stress and pain he was feeling inside.

John rubbed his tired red-rimmed eyes then dragged his hand down to scrub his thick beard. "Has Ash been able to access any of Dominic's credit cards? If we can find out where he used them last, we might have a better idea where he is an' what he's up to."

"No," Bobby shook his head, "the last thing Ash was able to pull up on him was when he closed out several of his bank accounts. An' that was six days ago."

"Jus' don't think he's going anywhere until he gets his revenge, so he still has to be around here somewhere."

"True, but with the kind of money he pulled out of his accounts, he could be hidin' out anywhere an' we'd have no real way to track him."

"For some reason, I don't think Dominic's the kind of guy who hides out anywhere," John surmised. "Think it's more his style to stick right out in the open so he can rub it in our faces when he comes after the boys again."

"I don't know about that, John, not with the police looking for him "

Bobby thought back to all the recent newspaper articles and news reports on television about the investigation into the murders at Dominic's compounds. After the hunters' attack on the compounds, they had gone back and meticulously removed any sign of their presence, and as far as Bobby could tell, they had been completely successful. Not one report even remotely suggested that an outside force had infiltrated the grounds and had attacked the unsuspecting cult members. Most accounts inferred that like Jim Jones, Dominic had attempted to persuade his followers into a mass suicide, but something had gone wrong. There had also been reports that following the deaths at both compounds, numerous other well-known cult members had been found dead in various locations, all apparent suicides, and that had lent credence to the fact that what had happened was planned by the cult leader.

Of course Bobby had no doubt that the police and FBI were keeping some of their investigation under wraps. Yet, so far no one had come to question them about Sam's injuries in regards to any cult activity. Bobby could only guess that it was because Deacon had been with John when they brought Sam into the hospital. Once the hospital personal had learned Deacon was a police officer, they had willingly accepted his story that he was working with local law enforcement to discover who had hurt Sam. Still, Bobby figured it was only a matter of time before some investigator came snooping around, and hoped with all his heart that it would be later rather than sooner as Sam wasn't strong enough yet to be moved.

"Don't really think he's all that concerned about the police, Bobby," John uttered, throwing up his arms in disgust. "Hell, he built a freakin' huge arsenal right under their noses, and no one even tried to stop him. An' I'm guessin' that he thinks he's way too smart to get caught."

"Has Sam spoken at all yet," Bobby asked, knowing that the youngest Winchester had found Dominic once, and just might be able to do so again. "He found Dominic before, an' might know something we don't."

"No." John heaved a weary groan as he shook his head. "But even if he was, I wouldn't ask him about Dominic. He's been through enough," he bobbed his head in Dean's direction, "they both have. So we need to find that bastard ourselves, an' put an' end to this once an' for all."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dean was vaguely aware that his father and Bobby were watching him closely, but at the moment he really couldn't have cared less. His trouble thoughts were solely centered on the memory of how Sam had looked at him before their father had dragged Dean out of the hospital room. Before now, Dean had thought he'd seen and memorized every single one of his little brother's facial expressions. A slight quirk of a brow meant Sam was puzzled by something, and by the same token, if his brows were drawn closely together, he was brooding, and it was more than likely because of something Dean had said or done. If his eyes were more rounded than usual, he was in full-on puppy-dog eye mode, which meant that whatever he wanted, Dean would never be able to refuse. His shy, awkward half-smile was usually reserved for times when he encountered a woman he found attractive, and if he bit pensively at his lower lip, he was deep in thought. But the look that he had seen earlier in his little brother's hazel eyes was one that terrified the hell out of him. Pure abject fear. And what had Dean's stomach curdling like sour milk was the cold harsh reality that he was the cause of it.

Slowly Dean's mind wandered back to the first time their father had left them alone to go out on a hunt, and a sad smile briefly flitted across his features.

__

"Dean, wanna play checkers?" seven-year-old Sam asked as he plopped the checker board down on the table in their motel room.

"In a couple of minutes, Sammy. Have to put the salt lines in front of the doors and windows." As Dean said this, he trailed a line of rock salt in front of the door, and then headed over to the window to do the same.

Sam followed closely behind, and when they got to the window he tapped Dean on the shoulder. "Can I salt the windows?"

"Sure thing, kiddo," he replied as he handed Sam the rock salt

, _"just make sure there aren't any breaks in the line."_

A single tear slipped down Dean's cheek as he recalled how Sam had never once doubted what he had told him all those long years ago. Sam had trusted in himin a way that he had never trusted anyone else including their own father. His little brother had truly believed that Dean could protect him from anything, but now because of Dominic that belief in him was completely shattered.

__

There's no way to fix this . . . no way to go back to how things were before.

Slowly, Dean pushed himself to his feet, and headed away from Sam's room. He wasn't exactly sure where he wanted to go, but knew he needed time to think without his father and Bobby watching over him as if he were a two-year-old.

"Where you going, Dean?"John called out to him, and Dean could hear the sounds of both his father and Bobby's shoes scuffling across the tiled floor as they made to follow after him.

"Need some air," Dean muttered in a low breathless whisper. It wasn't exactly the truth, but wasn't a lie either as pure unadulterated pain raged within him, feeling as if it were crushing his lungs in a viselike grip, and made it almost impossible to take even a shallow breath.

"I'll go with you,"John was quick to say, and Dean could tell by the tone of his voice that his father didn't trust him to come back on his own. "Bobby can stay with Sam."

"If I wanted you to come with me, I would've asked."

"Dean, I — "

"Said I don't need you to freakin' follow me," Dean abruptly swung to glare at John, anger seething from every pore in his body. Clenching and unclenching his hands, his body trembled as he fought the overwhelming urge to slam them into his father's face. "As far as I'm concerned you're just as freakin' bad as Dominic," Dean snarled, lashing out at John, wanting his father to hurt just as badly as he felt inside. He jabbed his index finger into John's chest as he gritted his teeth and further added, "You give orders, an' you give 'em . . .an' you give 'em . . . an' you give 'em, an' God forbid anyone ever thinks to question you."

"Dean," Bobby tried to cut in as Dean raised both arms and forcefully pushed his father into the wall. The older hunter hastily stepped in between the two men as Dean raised a fist to strike John. "That's enough, Dean."

"No, it's not," Dean snapped, pushing the older man aside so he could face his father once more. "You know it's the freakin' truth, Bobby. You know it. I've never been anything but a good little soldier to him, always doin' exactly as I'm told to do, but I deserved better than that . . . Sam deserved better than that."

"I was tryin' to protect you and your brother," John defended, his voice raising in anger as he firmly stood his ground. "Every damn thing I've ever done was so you and Sammy could be safe. So I'm not about to freakin' apologize for that."

"Safe?" Dean gave his father an incredulous look as he shook his head in clear disbelief. "How many damn fathers would leave their eleven and seven year old sons alone in some crappy-assed motel room while they went out hunting for days on end?" John opened his mouth to argue, but Dean quickly cut him off, "Think the answer you're lookin' for, Dad, is not many . . . not freakin' many."

"I did the best I could, Dean." John took a step forward, coming face to face with Dean, neither man about to back down. "An' maybe I didn't always do what was right by you an' your brother, but at least I know that I would've never hurt you like that sonuvabitch did."

"No, you think not, huh?" Dean's scowl deepened as he looked his father squarely in the eyes. "Cause I'd have to say that the hurt you cause may not show on the outside, but scars it leaves behind makes what Dominic did look like freakin' child's play." Somewhat shocked by what he'd just said aloud, Dean's bravado faltered. He might have thought it from time to time but never before would have spoken those words to his father, but once said he couldn't help but add, "You're nothin' but a freakin' selfish bastard who only ever cared about gettin' that damn demon no matter the cost to me and Sammy."

Anger flashed in his father's dark eyes a split second before he gripped hold of Dean's shirt and yanked him forward. Breathing hard, John snarled, "You know what . . . Fuck you, Dean! I've busted my ass tryin' my freakin' best to make sure you an' your brother were safe. An' no one asked you to stick around once you came of age, so don't freakin' blame me cause you couldn't make the decision to leave on your own!"

Cocking back a fist, John struck out at Dean, but Bobby caught his arm mid-strike. As his father grappled to free himself from Bobby's hold, Dean slammed a fist into his father's jaw, followed quickly by a blow to the gut, staggering the older man. Weakened by lack of food, and out of breath, Dean stumbled backward, what little strength he possessed at an end.

John ran the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping away the blood trickling from the split lip Dean had just given him. "Never knew you to take a cheap shot before, Dean. Somethin' you learned from Dominic?"

"Must've," Dean turned on his heel and stalked down the long hallway, calling back over his shoulder, "cause the only think I ever learned from you was how to walk away, leavin' everyone behind."


	36. Chapter 36

_thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Thirty-Six_

A shiver of apprehension washed over Dean as he exited the hospital, and he hastily looked around the emergency parking lot, searching for Dominic. Even though he couldn't see anyone, Dean still had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that the cult leader was around somewhere watching him. His knees nearly buckled as adark blue Cadillacwith smoky tinted windows slowed considerably as it passed by the emergency entrance, and he quickly ducked back inside the safety of the hospital's alcove.

Now Dean finally understood what Shannon had told himlong ago. Dominic had somehow managed to take everything from him, and what was worse was that Dean had allowed it to happen.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

__

"You know, I love that little smile of yours." Shannon smiled as she lightly trailed her fingertips down the corners of Dean's lips. "You know the one that let's me know just what your thinking without you having to say a word."

__

"So what am I thinking right now then?" Dean quirked a brow as he laced his fingers through hers.

_"Well, right now your wonderin' if I'm gonna let you get beyond second base._" _Shannon's grin faded as her fingers traced a path downward to Dean's chest. "But a moment ago, you were thinkin' about my father, right? You were wondering why I am so afraid of him."_

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"I didn't protect anyone," Dean muttered to himself as he edged himself over to a row of benches and took a seat. "I let Shannon die . . . Raine died . . . Sam could've died . . . an' what did I do?" He let out a wry laugh as he brusquely raked his hand through the stubbled hair on his head. "I believed him. I believed every freakin' thing he said." His voice rose as the anger and self-hatred swelled inside of him. "How could've I let him make me think Sam would ever leave me?" His head dropped back onto his shoulders as he tried to explain away his own betrayal of his brother, but no easy answer came to him. "Am I really that freakin' pathetic?"

"Dean?"came Deacon's voicefrom off to the side of Dean, and as he glanced up at the older man, Deacon nudged his head toward the bench Dean was sitting on. "Mind if I take a seat?"

"Yeah, whatever," Dean muttered as he motioned for Deacon to take a seat.

"Where's John and Bobby," Deacon asked as he casually took a look around, and Dean noticed how the older man also eyed the parking lot, searching for any signs of Dominic. "An' how come your out here alone?"

"Needed some time to think, an' I jus' couldn't do that with my Dad breathin' down my neck."

"Look, I know how hard this must be for you, so if you wanna talk about it, I've been told I'm a pretty good listener," Deacon said, unobtrusivelyand without a hint on commendation. "You don't have to if you don't want to, I just thought you might want to."

For a moment, Dean thought to say no, but knew if he didn't let go of some of the pain welling inside of himself, he would drown within it. "I met this girl back when Sam was going to Stanford," he began to recounted, a small smile flitting across his features as he recalled how beautiful Shannon was, "she had dark wavy black hair, an' the most incredible blue eyes I've ever seen . . . I don't know how to describe them except to say it was like looking into the ocean, they were so deep an' fathomless in their perfection."

"She sounds beautiful," Deacon supplied when Dean fell silent.

"She really was . . . ." Dean drew in a deep breath as he prepared himself to tell Deacon what he had done. "I promised I would protect her from her father . . . an' then he killed her . . . stabbed her to death with my knife."

"Dominic." The older man gave a subtle nod of understanding which gave Dean the encouragement to continue onward.

"I didn't go to the police, Deacon," with head lowered in shame, he glanced up at Deacon through lowered lashes, "I burned everything that belonged to her," he swallowed hard, finding it exceedingly hard to say what he had done next, "cleaned up Pastor Jim's cabin, erasing any sign that she'd ever been there, an' then . . . then I burned her body."

"Does anyone else know about this?" Deacon asked after a very long pause.

"Never told anyone until you." Dean looked around the parking lot again, the feeling that someone was watching him still gnawing away at his insides. "I swear I didn't want to do it, but no one would've ever believed that I came back from a hunt an' found her dead. You have to believe me . . . I'm not proud of what I've done, but I did it for Sammy . . . had to stick under the radar like my Dad always told me to do."

"So Dominic must've seen you burning her body that day, an' came after you for it," the older man surmised.

"Yeah . . . ." Dean lowered his head again, his shoulders slumping as the weight of what he had done to Shannon crushed down upon him. "It . . . it jus' hurt so damn much . . . you'll never know how damn much . . . an' I wasn't thinkin', an' I wasn't watchin' . . . an' he must've been there and saw me burn her body."

"I'm not saying that what you did was right, Dean," Deacon finally said after another long pause, "but I do understand your reasoning."

"I promised I'd protect her, Deacon . . . promised to protect Sammy." Dean drew in a shaky breath as he brushed the back of his hand across his cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "An' I failed to protect them both."

"Dean," Deacon laid a hand on Dean's shoulder, "I know how your father raised you . . . believe me I know, but no matter what he says, it really isn't your job to protect everyone . . . an' sometimes I think it's you that needs to be protected." Deacon searched out Dean's eyes with his own, but shamefully Dean couldn't meet his gaze. "But, truthfully, I think that anyone who has ever known you would say that they were better for having you come into their lives."

"That's not true," Dean sadly shook his lowered head, "if I hadn't been around, Jessica would still be alive, an' Sam wouldn't be in the hospital right now. An' then there's Shannon an' Raine, they're both dead cause of me."

"Dean, you're playin' a what if game, an' I can tell you right now, you'll always stack the odds against your favor. But, I can also tell you this, there would definitely be a lot more dead people fillin' up the cemeteries if you weren't around. An' honestly, I sleep better at night knowing that you are out there making sure this damn world is a better place to live in."

"You know," Dean hesitated, almost fearful to admit what had finally broken him, "I jus' wanted a home so damn bad . . . never had a real home . . . an' someone who would be proud of me no matter how many times I screwed up."

"I can understand that, Dean." Deacon cast a sad smile in Dean's direction and then looked toward the hospital entrance. "You an' Sam never got to have a normal life, an' sometimes it has to feel like you were cheated out on what everyone else takes for granted. But truthfully, even livin' out of motel rooms or wherever it is you rested your heads at night, you've had more of a home than most people I know. Cause it's really not where you live that matters so much as it is those who are there with you. Sam is your home, Dean, he's where your heart has always been," he shrugged as he nudged his head back toward the hospital, "but you really don't need me to tell you that cause deep inside, you already know it's true. So now you can either sit outside here playing the what if game all night long or get back inside, an' be where you really want to be. An' somethin' tells me, you're really ready to go home."

For what must have been the first time since Deacon sat down, Dean glanced up at him and smiled. "Thanks, Deacon,"he said as he slowly rose to his feet, ready to once again face his brother.

"Anytime, Dean."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

As Dean headed back inside the hospital with Deacon following close behind, a man in a dark green Camaro, yanked out his cell phone and placed a call.

"Father, it's Markus. He's at the hospital right now with John an' the others."

"Good," came Dominic's calm voice from the other end of the line, "I want the rest of them dead. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father, not a problem."

"An' I want you to leave Dominic for me . . . I want my son to know that I came back for him. Is that clear?"

"Yes. I understand." With that, Markus snapped his cell phone shut, and slid out of the car.


	37. Chapter 37

okay, so this is another short chappy, but i really just didn't want to cut away from what i've written here and move onto something else as i really liked the scene just as it is...thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! bambers;)

_Chapter Thirty-Seven_

Dean brushed past his father, and with a lot less confidence, trudged toward Sam's hospital room. His father was behind him within a heartbeat, placing his hand on Dean's shoulder. Whether it was meant to give Dean moral support or to stop him from going any further into his brother's room,Dean wasn't sure. Although it really didn't matter to him which it was because at the moment his Dad was the very last person he wanted to have a conversation with.

"Dean — "

"I don't have anything left to say to you." Dean pressed his hand against the door, and pushed it open, calling back over his shoulder, "You've done your fatherly duty, now I'm sure there's a demon out there that needs your freakin' attention. So why don't you do what you do best an' leave."

Without giving John a chance to reply, Dean shut the door and stood pressed against it for several minutes. If his father chose to barge into the room at that second, he knew he wouldn't have the strength to stop him, but luckily the eldest Winchester made no attempt to follow.

After a lengthy pause, he finally worked up the courage to look in his brother's direction, and green eyes met and locked on terrified hazel ones. Dean held up his arms in a show that he intended to stay right where he was until Sam was ready for him to move any closer.

"Sam . . . Sammy . . . ." Dean hesitated, lowering his head as he licked his suddenly dry lips. He took a slow measured step toward the hospital bed, but stop instantly when he heard a small cry issue past his little brother's lips. Dean gaze immediately went to the heart monitor, wanting to make sure his little brother wasn't going to have another attack, and sighed deeply when the wavy line kept at a fairly regular beat.

"By my best calculations, I figure I was kept in Dominic's prison for about three weeks," Dean began as he slowly edged his way along the wall, wanting to be closer to his brother, but too fearful to take the shortest route there. "I swear to God, I tried to hold out an' have hope . . . I swear I did." Dean stopped short in his slow and steady trek toward Sam's bed when he noticed his brother's eyes narrow slightly as if he was trying to determine if he believed Dean.

Dean drew in a shaky breath as he scrubbed his hand across his face, needing time to get all his thoughts in order. "An' then . . . ." He wavered as he glanced back into his brother's eyes, not liking what he now was about to admit, but knew it needed to be said. "An' then I jus' started remembering how angry you seemed when I came to get you from school . . . like you didn't even care if you ever saw me again." Lowering his head, Dean turned it slightly to the side as he brushed away a lone tear that slipped down his cheek. "An' Dad took off without a word . . . I'm not proud to have to admit this, but I started to believe Dominic . . . started thinkin' no one really cared if I lived or died."

He looked to Sam again, hoping his little brother would say something to let him know that what he was saying wasn't falling on deaf ears, but Sam remained deathly quiet and still. "Sam," Dean took a step forward when he reached the end of the wall, and had he not reached out and grabbed hold of a nearby chair he would have fallen as his legs were trembling so badly. A slight awkward smile flitted briefly across his features, and when Sam failed to respond in kind, it faded away. "I don't really wanna go into all I endured while he had me locked up . . . figure you already know it was pretty bad." Dean nudged his head toward all the bruises and injuries on Sam, and continued, "An' I can see tha' it was nothin' in comparison to what he did to you. But it was bad, Sam . . . no one's ever hurt me like that before . . . an' I swear I'm not tryin' to make light of what he did to you . . . I'm really not."

With another unsure step, Dean reached out and took hold of the heart monitor stand to steady himself. Through lowered lashes, he glanced up at Sam, and for the briefest of moments he thought he saw an understanding in his little brother's eyes, but it faded away all to quickly, and Dean was left to wonder if he'd actually seen it at all.

As Dean thought of what he had to do next, he pressed his eyes closed, not wanting to see the look in Sam's eyes at that moment. Slowly he lifted his shirt up to reveal all the stitched over wounds that he had endured while Dominic held him prisoner. His hand lightly grazed over the word etched on his chest, and he sucked in a breath, hating how true it was. Ghosting his fingertips across his chest, he felt where his skin had been torn away from the hooks that had held him suspended to the ceiling, and then he slowly turned so Sam could see the long trailing wounds left behind by the whip.

"He made me do things I never imagined I would ever do," Dean hesitated again as he remembered groveling at Dominic's feet, and gagged as his stomach lurched suddenly, acrid bile rising in his throat. Covering his hand over his mouth, he swallowed hard, fighting the urge to throw up, and finally his stomach slowly began to settle. "I did try to stand up to him once," he lightly trailed his hand over the mark on his chest again, "an' this is what he did to me for it."

Sam's gaze traveled downward and settled on the word etched in Dean's skin, and Dean noticed a single tear slide down the side of his little brother's face in response to what he had seen. Lifting his right hand, Sam lightly rested his cast on his chest, and gave a slight nod of understanding.

"I was so screwed up, Sammy," Dean took another tentative step toward the bed, followed by another, but halted in his stead when Sam visibly flinched away from him. "An' I actually came to think I wanted what Dominic had to offer . . . I wanted a home . . . a family who would always be there for me . . . a wife . . . ." Dean's voice trailed off as he remembered holding Raine in his arms as her life slipped away from her. "But then Deacon reminded me of something very important . . . something that's worth fighting for . . . worth dying for . . . ." Again Dean's voice wavered off as he brushed away the tears welling in his eyes.

Ever so slowly, Dean closed the remaining gape between them, and waited for a moment before he finally took a seat beside his brother. "I never hurt you, Sammy . . . I never even knew you were there. I swear it on my life. You have to believe me."

Dean leaned in, and then very cautiously rested his arms on the edge of the bed, careful not to make contact with Sam even in the slightest way. "Cause, Sammy, you gotta know that I would rather die than hurt you." He lowered his head and gave free reign to the tears welling in his eyes.

"An' I'm so damn sorry that I didn't think you'd come for me . . . that I didn't trust in you." A sob caught in Dean's throat as he lowered his head to rest on his arms, tears now flowing freely down his cheeks to dampen his shirt sleeves. "An' cause of me, you got so damn hurt . . . this is all my fault, an' I don't know how to make it okay, Sammy . . . you need to tell me how to make it okay again. Make it like it was before . . . ."

Sam's hand lightly ghosted across the top of Dean's head, and then his cast came to rest on Dean's back. Dean peered up at his brother through lowered lashes, and saw a faint smile light up Sam's pale complection, and through his tears he somehow managed to smile back at him.

"D-Dean . . . ." Sam uttered so softly that for a slightest of moments, Dean actually believed he'd only imagined that he heard it.

"Sammy?" Dean asked with his heart in his throat, praying for all he was worth that Sam would say something more to him.

"Wh-what did Deacon s-say to you?" Sam murmured in a breathy whisper.

"He said that you were my home, Sammy." Dean smile widened as he moved his arm and laid a hand on Sam's forearm. "An' that it was time to come home . . . but I gotta tell ya, I'm scared as all hell that we'll never get back to where we were before."

Sam lowered his gaze to his left hand as he lightly moved it up and down over his chest, and several more tears spilled down his cheeks. "Things will never be the same, D-Dean . . . we'll never be the s-same." His voice hitched as a sob caught in his throat. "I wanna trust you, Dean . . . God, you have no idea how much I wanna . . . but I don't . . . an' I don't know how to get that back . . . wh-when I look at you . . . all I can see an' hear is you taunting an' hurting me. An' I don't know if it's true . . . hell, I don't know what to believe anymore . . . ." Sam's voice trailed off as he looked long and hard into Dean's eyes. "I jus' want my brother back . . . an' I don't wanna be afraid of him anymore."

"Okay, Sammy." Dean gave a curt nod, understanding completely why Sam was so afraid of him. He also knew exactly what he had to do to earn back the trust that Dominic had taken from both of them. "Don't worry, little brother, I'm gonna take care of this. We can an' will be brothers again . . . an' I swear to you, Sammy, by the time I'm through with Dominic there won't even be the tiniest piece of that sonuvabitch left behind that's identifiable."


	38. Chapter 38

okay, so another kinda short chapter, i know...but once again, i felt this chappy should end just the way it has. Hope everyone agrees...thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! Bambers;)

_Chapter Thirty-Eight_

"Dean, can I have a word with you?" John asked, his voice low and as close to pleading as Dean had ever heard.

"Thought I already told ya that I had nothing left to say to you." Dean flinched at how cold and harsh his own voice sounded to his ears. Before Dominic had entered their lives and virtually destroyed the foundation on which the Winchesters lived, Dean never would've considered speaking to his father in such a manner. "An' besides, I really don't wanna leave Sammy alone for too long," he added when he saw the profound hurt reflecting in his father's eyes.

"I'm jus' askin' for a few minutes. Bobby an' Deacon will keep an' eye on Sammy."

It was on the tip of Dean's tongue to tell his father to go to hell, but when he looked into the eldest Winchester's sad, heartbroken eyes, the words died away on his lips. "Okay, but make it quick cause I wanna get back to Sam."

After telling Bobby and Deacon where they were going, John and Dean strode down the long hospital corridor in silence. From lowered lashes, Dean chanced several glances in his father's direction, noting how his shoulders drooped and his stride held little of the confidence that had always been a constant in John's stature. Dean realized with startling clarity at that moment that Dominic had broken John as well, his deep-seeded scars were just not visible to the naked eye.

For all Dean's anger and hatred toward his father, John had done his best to rescue Sam and him from the cult. His father had put aside his need to hunt the Yellow-Eyed Demon to come to their aide when they needed it the most, and Dean had just cast aside that hard cold fact as if it were nothing. But for whatever John had done to help them, Dean couldn't forget that Dominic had been right about several things.

John had raised him to be a hunter; Dean's own wants and needs had never been important and had been casually tossed aside as if they meant nothing to the eldest Winchester. His father had made it abundantly clear over time that Sam was more important than Dean. His life held untold value unto which Dean could never hope to equal. Although Dean never had begrudged his little brother the place he held in his father's heart, just once Dean wanted to know that he mattered. He wanted to know that what he felt and hoped for in life was every bit as worthwhile as his brother's needs and desires. John had failed miserably in that respect, and that had been just the kind of thing that had made it very easy to believe whatever Dominic had told him.

Once they had reached the chapel area of the hospital, John pushed open the door, let Dean walk inside and followed. John gestured toward a pew in the far back corner of the room, and once seated, his father sat beside him.

For what seemed the longest time, John remained quiet with his head lowered. With hands loosely clasped, resting on his thighs, he leaned forward to glance up at the large ornamental cross on the altar.

"When your mother died," John began is a low strain voice, "I really thought it was the worst thing that could ever happen to me. She was my life an' my heart." Tilting his head to the side, he looked Dean in the eyes, tears shimmering in his own. "I believed at the time that the demon had stolen everything from me, but I couldn't jus' lay down an' die no matter how much I wanted to."

A sob caught in John's throat as his shoulders sagged a little more with the weight of his overwhelming sadness. Clearing his throat, he once again lowered his head. The shame his father was feeling washed over Dean as his own guilt surged within his soul.

"I had no idea how to raise you an' Sammy. An' God only knows I made a lot of mistakes along the way. But all I knew was that you two were a part of her, an' I needed to protect you both from what had taken her from me."

"Dad, I — " Dean tried to stop his father from saying more, but his father quickly cut him off.

"No, Dean, let me finish." John took a slow deep breath as he wiped the tears from his cheeks. "More times than I care to imagine, I pushed aside what you and Sammy needed cause I thought I was doing right by you both. But, Sam," he let out a wry chuckle, "well, that boy always had a mind to do whatever he had his heart set on, and it usually was exactly what I had told him specifically not to do. So I guess I probably worried about him more. An' I know he hated me for it most of the time, but I jus' couldn't afford to let him make mistakes that could've gotten him killed."

"Dad, Sam loves you," Dean uttered, feeling his father's sorrow coming off of him in crashing waves. "He's just always had a mind of his own. Even when he was little, he always questioned everything."

"Yeah, I know that. But this isn't about Sam . . . it's about you." John shifted in his seat to look at Dean, and let out a weary sigh. "Most people seem to think that I jus' see you as the good little soldier, doing whatever I ask without question . . . that's jus' not true, Dean." he shook his head as he rested his hand on Dean shoulder. "You're a part of me, Dean . . . you're my heart, so much like your mother that it scares the hell out of me most of the time. An' the demon knows it . . . so I distanced myself from you, an' I know that's wrong . . . an' I know it makes you think I don't care, but God, you have to know that I do."

"Sometimes I jus' needed . . . ." Dean's voice trailed off, eyes blurring with tears as he thought of all Dominic had said and done to him. He was fairly certain that he could have lived through the pain of all the torture, but the words had eaten away at his soul until there was nothing left but the certainty that he was worthless in the eyes of his father.

"You needed what, Dean?"

"I . . . I needed to know that I meant more to you than jus' bein' another worthless hunter in a battle we have no hope of winning." Dean drew in a breath, and swiped away the hot tears trailing down his cheeks as he looked into his father's eyes. "I could take you walkin' away to do your job if I knew for sure tha' you loved me as much as you love Sam, an' were proud to call me your son. I — I don't know that . . . I never did."

His father's face crumpled, his body trembling as he choked on a sob. Pulling Dean into a crushing embrace, John's heart-wrenching cries filled the sanctuary, and tore at Dean's battered soul. "I c-could never be any prouder of anyone than I am of you, Dean. I need you to know that."

John fell silent as he looked to the cross on the altar once more. His lips quivered as he drew in a staggering breath, his heartache so painfully evident that it stole away Dean's breath. "Sam called me no less than twenty times to tell me tha' you were missin' . . . an' I don't even know how many times Bobby called after the calls stopped coming from your brother . . . I didn't even bother to call Sam back . . . you both could've died, an' was so caught up in tryin' to kill the demon that I couldn't see anything beyond that."

Dean leaned forward in his seat, laid his elbows on the back of the pew in front of them, and lacing his fingers together, rested his face against them. Although it wasn't surprising to hear that his father had ignored Sam's pleas for help, Dean's heart still clenched painfully. If John had just listened for once, had taken the time to make one simple phone call, maybe Sam wouldn't be in the hospital right now. If he had just returned at least one of those calls for help, maybe Dominic would be dead right now instead of hiding out somewhere just waiting to hunt them down again.

"You should've called back, Dad," Dean breathed softly, with his heart lodged firmly in his throat. "I can understand your reasoning, but I can't forgive you for it. Cause with what we do, there's always gonna be a next time . . . another town, another chance that we might need you, an' you're not gonna be there." He squeezed his eyes closed as more tears slipped down his cheeks. "An' I'm sure you think that it'll never happen again . . . that you'll be there . . . that you'll answer that call in the middle of the night. But you won't. An' I know that cause I know you probably better than anyone else. I may not be as smart as Sammy, but there are some things I know for certain, an' you not bein' around is one of them."

For a moment, Dean thought his father might try to argue, might try to say that Dean was wrong, that he would be around if they needed him in the future, but the silence grew deafening as he waited for a response that never would come. But to Dean it was almost a relief that he had said nothing because a silent truth was better than a spoken lie. And truthfully, if he had said he would answer the next call for help, Dean would always be waiting for the next disappointment, and didn't think his heart could take the pain again.

"But that's jus' who you are . . . it's what you've been since the demon killed Mom. An' you know what . . . ." Dean hesitated as he turned to look at his father and saw the pain so clearly etched in his dark eyes. "You've always been my hero . . . the one person I always thought was out there protecting people from evil . . . an' ever since I was little, I wanted to be just like you. But I don't want that anymore . . . I just wanna be the man my little brother can count on to protect him when everyone else has turned their backs on him. I don't need anymore heroes, Dad, cause eventually they always let you down in one way or another."

From the broken expression Dean saw on his father's face before John lowered his head, Dean realized that nothing he could have said would hurt his Dad more, but couldn't find it in himself to take it back. He had always forgiven his father for every time he had been careless in his regard toward taking care of Sam and himself. He had made more excuses for the eldest Winchester's lack of concern than even he cared to admit. Had always found reasons why the hunt was more important than family, but he just couldn't do it anymore. If his father couldn't figure out that family was more important on his own, then he really didn't deserve the excuses Dean made for him.

"You're right, Dean," John finally managed to choke out, his voice heavily laden with emotion, "I'm no one's hero, but I've never claimed to be that either. I do what I do out of revenge a lone . . . an' maybe some good has come out of it. I've saved some people . . . an' I'm pretty sure they're grateful for what I did. But I've never been able to save those I've cared about the most. Your Mother . . . you an' Sam . . . I've always been jus' a little too late when it really mattered." Scrubbing his hand across his beard, John peered around the sanctuary, and then his glistening gaze settled on Dean. "But you, Dean, you've always been different than me. Before you, I'd never known anyone besides your mother who cared more for people. I can see your heart in your eyes, an' it makes you special . . . more than just a cut above the rest. From the time you took Sammy in your arms an' saved him from the fire, you've always been someone's hero . . . an' truth be known, you've always been mine."

Dean swallowed hard as more tears sprang to his eyes. The sincerity in his father's words meaning more to him than all the torture he had endured. "You d-don't mean that," he uttered, not quite believing that he had heard his father correctly.

"With all my heart an' soul, I mean it, Dean," John wrapped his arm around Dean's shoulder, "I'm so damn proud you're my son . . . an' I don't want you to ever doubt that again."


	39. Chapter 39

hope everyone is still enjoying...thanks for reading and for all the really great reviews...they mean the world to me!! bambers;)

_Chapter Thirty-Nine_

"Where's Bobby?" John asked, after entering Sam's hospital room and not finding the older hunter there. Noticing that Sam was finally sleeping somewhat peacefully, he lowered his voice and added, "Thought I told you both to stay here with Sam."

"He left about fifteen minutes ago," Deacon quickly supplied as his gaze ticked from John to Dean and then back again. "Someone called the room, an' apparently there was something wrong with Sam's insurance information. It sounded kinda bad so Bobby went to look for you."

"Something's wrong with the insurance?" John repeated, his heart sinking into his stomach, worried that they would have to move Sam out of the hospital before he was ready. "What did they say exactly?"

"I guess there was some question of fraud." Deacon cast his most apologetic look in John's direction before lowering his head. "Guess they said it was brought to their attention a few hours ago, an' needed to be cleared up as quickly as possible or they're gonna have to call the police."

"I don't understand," Dean finally spoke up as he took a seat beside Sam and gently took hold of his little brother's hand. "We've been to tons of hospitals in the past an' no one's ever questioned our insurance before."

Deacon shrugged. "Don't know what to tell ya, Dean. Guess the law of averages would predict it would have to happen eventually."

"Deacon, can you go an' find Bobby?" John asked, his gaze never straying from Sam. His brows furrowed as he scrubbed his hand across his beard, and then he swore under his breath. "We're gonna have to move Sam before the police get here."

"Dad, he's not ready to leave," Dean argued, his hold on Sam's hand tightening as fear of what the move would do to his little brother overwhelmed him. "You need to fix this . . . tell them you gave them the wrong information or something. Stall 'em for time. Do whatever you got to do, but he needs to stay here."

"Dean, we really don't have a choice in the matter." John nudged his head toward the door, and Deacon reluctantly rose to stand. "I would've hoped we'd have more time, but we don't. So we take Sam out of here, an' do the best we can to help him recover on our own."

"Deacon," Dean implored, "please, there's got to be another way."

"I really wish there was, Dean, but I think your father's right. If we don't move him now, we could all end up in prison." With that said, Deacon headed for the door, flung it open and left the room.

Deacon made his way through the hospital, searching every floor for any sign of Bobby, but couldn't seem to find him anywhere. He stopped at the sanctuary twice, knowing that is where John had said they would be, but both times, Bobby wasn't there. Doubling back, he headed for the cafeteria, thinking that maybe Bobby would stop there if he couldn't find either of the Winchesters, but as he looked around the expansive room, he still didn't see the scruffy older man.

With a sick feeling settling into his stomach, Deacon strode to the information desk at the hospital's main lobby. Clearing his throat to gather the receptionist's attention, he said, "Excuse me, I was just wondering if I could speak to one of the hospital administrators."

"I'm sorry, sir, but Ms. Finnigan has left for the day."

"She left for the day?" Deacon quirked a brow, his stomach churning even more violently than before. "Then can I speak to another administrator?"

"I'm afraid she was the only one here today, sir," the receptionist replied as she scanned the employee roster. "However, Mr. Hanson and Ms. McCoy will be in tomorrow if you'd like to set up an' appointment to speak to one of them."

Deacon reached in his pocket, pulled out his wallet and flashed the young receptionist his badge. "Look, I need some information about one of your patients," he said as she looked over his badge. "His name is Sam Winecrest, an' he was brought in here about seven days ago."

"I'm sorry, Officer, but I'm not permitted to give out any personal information about any of the patients."

"I know." Deacon heaved a weary sigh as he glanced back over his shoulder, then turned and leaned a bit further over the desk. "I just need to know if you've seen any suspicious looking people hanging around down here. Maybe they might've asked about Sam's condition or what room he was staying in."

The receptionist hesitated for a moment, narrowing her eyes as if trying to recall if she had seen or spoken to anyone who might have looked out of place. "I'm sorry, sir, I just can't think of anyone who seemed out of place."

"An' no one asked what room he was in?"

Again the receptionist shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I just got here about a half an hour ago. Maybe Cindy saw or talked to someone on her shift. So you could probably talked to her." Once more the receptionist looked over her employee roster, and frowned. "But she doesn't work again until Monday."

Deacon looked toward the front exit, and noticed two guards standing beside the sliding double doors. He then glanced around for any other means of leaving the lobby undetected, but only spotted one emergency exit and knew an alarm would go off if anyone tried to leave through that exit. "If I was trying to leave this building undetected by anyone, is there any exits that aren't either alarmed or have guards posted at them?"

"Well, my friend Mandy works in the cafeteria, an' she always complaining that she has to go out on the back dock at night to empty the garbage. So I would have to assume that door hasn't got an alarm on it."

Although the back dock might have been a good place to load an unconscious man into a vehicle without anyone noticing, Deacon didn't think it was likely that Bobby had been taken out of the hospital by means of that exit. As he was looking around for another possible means of escape, he noticed a woman rolling a young man out the door in a wheelchair. "How often would you say that family members take patients out that front door in wheelchairs to get some fresh air?" he asked on a hunch.

"On a fairly regular basis as long as the doctor in charge of the patient's care has given the okay to do so."

"An' the guards, they don't normally stop these people from coming or going?"

"No," the receptionist said with a curt shake of her head. "Like I said, as long as the doctor's given the okay, family members can take their loved ones outside."

"How easy would you say it is to get a hold of a wheelchair here?"

"It's a hospital, Officer," she said as if the answer should be obvious, but still went on to elaborate. "They have a bunch of them just sitting in the alcove of the emergency entrance. Not to mention tons more scattered throughout the hospital."

After all Dominic had done to Sam and Dean, Deacon had no doubt in his mind that the madman was more than capable of somehow luring Bobby away. If he had somehow managed to knock Bobby unconscious, Deacon determined that he could have easily taken the older hunter out of the hospital undetected.

"Thanks, you've been a big help," he said, and without waiting for her to respond, he turned and headed back toward Sam's room.

Praying that he was wrong, and that Bobby had gone back to Sam's hospital room, Deacon picked up his pace as he made his way down the long corridor. As he pushed open the door to the youngest Winchester's room, he took a quick look around and swore under his breath when he didn't see Bobby anywhere. "John, can I talk to you outside for a moment?" he asked as he bobbed his head toward the hallway.

John studied Deacon's worried expression for a moment, then looked beyond him, searching for Bobby, and narrowed his eyes on his longtime friend when he didn't see the older hunter. "Where's Bobby?"

"Can we talk about this outside, John." He made a subtle gestured toward Sam and Dean, and then pointed toward the corridor outside the doorway. "It'll only take a moment."

Reluctantly, John followed Deacon out of the room. Once the door closed behind him, John immediately asked, "Thought I told you to find Bobby an' bring him back here, so where the hell is he?"

"I looked everywhere for him, John, an' some places I even checked twice. He's gone."

"By gone are you telling me he left here on his own or that Dominic somehow managed to abduct him in front of I don't know how many freakin' police officers and guards?"

"I didn't actually check outside for his truck, but I would have to say it was the latter of the two."

"That sonuvabitch," John hissed through clenched teeth. Opening the door to Sam's room just a crack, John looked in on his sons as he tried to formulate a plan of what they should do next. Dean was still at Sam's side with his head resting against the pillow beside his brother's, and his hand protectively circling Sam's chest. His heart went out to his two sons; they had already been through so much already, and their physical and emotional wounds had not even yet begun to heal, so how was he suppose to tell them that Dominic had now taken Bobby?

Deep-seeded fear took hold of John, shaking him to his very core at the thought of how Bobby's disappearance would affect Dean. His oldest son had always been extremely close with the older hunter, and John had no doubt in his mind that Dean would somehow manage to think it was his fault. As Dean was already feeling a world of guilt for what had happened to Sam, John was terrified that this revelation would be the very thing that would push his eldest son right over the edge.

"What are we gonna do, John?" Deacon asked, breaking in on John's troubled thoughts. "Dominic knows right where we are, but we have no idea where the hell he is. An' he took Bobby just to prove he could, so we need to make some sort of plans."

"First thing we need to do is get Sammy out of here, an' get him to someplace that's safe," John said as he shut the door, and turned back to his friend. "Then we go after Dominic, an' this time we make sure he can't ever come back to hurt my boys again."

"How the hell are we supposed to find him? It's not like he's using credit cards that we can track . . . an' I've gone back to both compound several times, an' they're deserted."

"My best guess is that he's not far from here," John determined, trying to put himself in Dominic's position. As a hunter, Dominic would want to be close enough to keep an eye on his prey. If his prey did something unexpected, he would want to be near by so he would know about it and could adjust his plans accordingly. But if he snatched Bobby from the hospital, he would also need a place that was somewhat secluded or risk someone seeing him. "We're gonna need a map of the area, one that shows hunting lodges and secluded places."

"Maybe Dominic owns property under another name?"

The moment Deacon said this, the image of Shannon flashed through John's mind. From what John had gathered, she was the reason why Dominic had abducted Dean in the first place, and if so, maybe Dominic had used her name to buy another piece of property. "That's a thought. I'll have Ash check into other cult member's names, an' see if he turns up anything. But for now we gotta get my boys out of here."

Deacon nodded in agreement. "Alright, I'll go an' find a wheelchair, just have them ready to go by the time I get back." With that said, Deacon took off down the hallway in search of wheelchair for Sam.

John hesitated for a moment, not knowing how he was going to tell Dean about Bobby. He almost thought to lie, but with everything that had happened to his eldest child, John worried that Dean would just see it as another betrayal. _He deserves the truth, an' if I lie to him now, he'll never forgive me._

With shoulders sagging, he entered the hospital room. Dean lifted his head the moment he heard John walk through the door. Slowly making his way to his feet, Dean warily eyed John as if he had already perceived that something was wrong.

"Where's Bobby?" Dean muttered in a hoarse whisper, stark fear reflecting in his eyes as he waited for John to speak. But when John failed to answer right away, he furthered added, "Dominic has him, doesn't he? He has him, an' he's gonna kill him cause of me."

Not knowing how to respond without causing Dean anymore guilt, John gave a curt nod instead. "Deacon went to find a wheelchair so we could get Sammy out of here. An' once we get him to someplace safe, me an' Deacon are gonna go after the sonuvabitch."

Dean looked to Sam who was fidgeting restlessly in his bed, then back to John who was trying his damnedest to remain outwardly calm, and something inside of Dean snapped. All the pain he had endured, all the constant taunts that no one cared if he lived or died, all the unending humiliation of groveling before Dominic's feet, flooded Dean's mind with startling clarity. From what he had seen of Sam's injuries, he could only imagine how much worse it had been for his little brother, and he would be damned if someone else killed the bastard who had stolen everything away from them both.

Straightening to his full height, Dean squared his shoulders back, and looked his father in the eyes. "Not if I get the bastard first." With one last glance in Sam's direction, Dean stormed out the door, and headed toward the one place he was certain he would find Dominic.


	40. Chapter 40

hope everyone is still enjoying...thanks for reading and for all the really great reviews... bambers;)

_Chapter Forty_

Cold sweat prickled at the nape of Dean's neck as he sat inside his father's truck, staring out at the forest of trees that hid Pastor Jim's cabin from view. Stomach churning violently at the thought of facing Dominic again, he tightened his hold on the steering wheel in a pathetic attempt to regain his courage and to stop his hands from trembling so badly.

Dean chanced a glance in the rearview mirror, and almost didn't recognize the dull, lifeless green eyes that reflected back at him. Dark smudges rimmed his eyes, attesting to the severe lack of sleep he had suffered over the past several weeks.

"That jus' can't be me," he mumbled as he stared at the gaunt and haggard man in the mirror. His tongue darted out of his mouth and flicked across his dried, crack lips, and he watched as the man in the mirror did the same. He pressed the tips of his fingers against his cheekbones then trailed them downward to the deep hollows in his face caused by lack of food. _I can't do this. _Dean lowered his head in shame, not wanting to see his reflection any longer.

_How can you ever hope to beat me? Even you can see how pathetically weak you truly are._ He heard Dominic's cruel and taunting voice in his head, his maniacal laughter sending a shiver of dread racing down Dean's spine. _You're a sad, pathetic little child. You couldn't even protect yourself from me, how can even begin to think you can save your brother from me?_

"I won't let you hurt Sammy again," Dean hissed with more strength behind the words than he actually felt he had to offer. "I'll kill you before I allow you to hurt my brother again."

_An' yet you sit there in your daddy's truck, terrified to move. So, tell me, child, why would I ever be afraid of you?_

Although Dean knew it wasn't really Dominic speaking to him, the truth behind the taunts still struck home with such force that he actually started to turn the key in the ignition, wanting nothing more than to drive back to hospital where his father and Sam were waiting for him. Yet, the thought of what Dominic would do to Bobby if he didn't confront him stopped Dean dead in his tracks.

_I didn't raise you to be afraid of anything, Dean. _His father's voice now overshadowed Dominic's; giving Dean the strength he needed to get out of the vehicle to do what had to be done. _You're my son, an' I trained you to never quit or back down no matter what you were up against. You're too strong and determined to let that sonuvabitch take everything away from you._

_He'll pay for what he did to Sammy, Dad . . . I swear he will. _

Dean made quick work of gathering together his weapons, and almost as if it were an afterthought, he grabbed the EVP recorder and put a new tape inside of it. Slipping the recorder inside his jacket pocket, he headed toward the cabin.

As he strode through the thick brush, his mind wandered back to the last time he was at Pastor Jim's cabin. He breathed in deeply and could vividly recall the scent of Shannon's flesh burning as he set her body on fire. _I'm so sorry, Shannon. I swore I would protect you from him, an' I just let him get away with murdering you. If I hadn't left you, you'd still be alive, an' Sammy would've never gotten hurt because of me._

_"Dean . . . ." _Shannon's soft voice whispered through the trees. _"Avenge me, Dean . . . ."_

"I swear I will," Dean vowed as he skirted his way around the outer edges of the forest, working his way toward the back of the property. At the far back corner of Pastor Jim's land, Dean exited the woods, and stopped short when he saw the charred remains of the mattress he had burned after he had found Shannon dead inside the cabin.

A few feet away from there, he spotted the area where he had built another fire to burn Shannon's body. A hard lump formed in his throat as tears sprung to his eyes. "I should've protected you from him. I knew you were afraid, an' I just left you alone."

Ash kicked up from the ground and swirled through the air, circling and widening as the shape of a woman slowly took form. Hovering above the ground, she floated toward Dean and lightly caressed his cheek. Blood spilled from her mouth as she whispered, "Avenge me, Dean." Then just as quickly as she had appeared, she vanished in a cloud of ash and dust.

Dean turned away from the two fire pits, and headed toward the backside of the cabin. Silently, he sidled up alongside one of the windows and peered inside. Tremors of fear coursed through his body as he saw Bobby tied to a chair. The older man's head was lolling to the side, as he slumped in his seat. For the briefest of moments, Dean had thought Bobby might be dead, but then noticed a subtle movement of his arm, and breathed a thankful sigh of relief.

_I'm gonna get you outta here, Bobby, an' everything's gonna be okay._

Cautiously_, _Dean made his way around to the front of the cabin, and stopped short, a slow smile spreading across his features as he noticed a familiar and welcoming sight. Only about ten feet away from Jim's cabin, he saw the front end of his Impala sticking out from behind a large hedge.

The sight of his car, gave him more strength and courage than he'd felt in what seemed the longest time. Every little piece of his life that mattered had happened while he was inside his Impala with Sam at his side. Inside of her, they had talked and laughed, and had even cried when they were so broken they thought they couldn't go on any further. She had been the one solid force that had never left Dean behind, and had protected his weary soul as he protected the lives of others. Her sturdy metal frame was the fortress he had hid behind when he was beaten and torn apart inside. She was his home.

"I was wonderin' what had happened to you, baby," he softly purred.

Standing just a little bit taller, Dean made his way to the front window, and looked inside again, searching for any signs of Dominic, but didn't see anyone else inside the small cabin. Dean yanked his .45 out of his waistband as he stealthy made his way toward the door, and eased it open.

The slightest squeak of the hinges announced his arrival, but luckily no one seemed to hear it. As silently as he possibly could, Dean crept across the wooden floorboards, and inwardly cringed as he heard them creak and moan under his feet. He knelt beside Bobby and quickly untied his feet, then moved behind the chair to take care of the ropes that were bound around the older man's wrists.

"Bobby," he called out in a whisper as he gently nudged his friend, "I'm gonna get you outta here."

"Dea . . ." Bobby's eyelids fluttered as he tried to pry his eyes open, but they were so bruised and swollen he could only manage a slight squint.

"How many of them are there?" he asked as he quickly accessed Bobby's injuries.

"Th-three or f-four."

"You think you can walk, Bobby?" Dean helped the older man to his feet, and hitched an arm around his waist to help keep him upright. A worried frown creased Dean's brow as he listened to Bobby's ragged breathing, and felt the older man's body trembling as he tried to stay on his feet. "The Impala's parked right outside."

Drawing in a staggered breath, Bobby uttered, "It's a tr-trap, Dean . . . h-he knew y-you'd come for me."

"Don't worry I've got a plan," Dean lied. Silently praying that Bobby wouldn't notice that he was now shaking uncontrollably, Dean led the older hunter out of the house.

"Wh-where's your Dad an' Deacon?"

"They're checking the perimeter," Dean lied again as he helped Bobby into the backseat of the Impala.

"Stay here, I'm gonna go an' find Dominic."

Without waiting for Bobby to argue, Dean eased the car door closed, and headed back inside the cabin. A cool breeze wafted into the room from the open back window, that Dean was certain had been closed earlier. Raising his gun, Dean slowly took a backward step toward the door, but it slammed shut, barring him from leaving the room.

"Welcome home, Dominic," came the father's cruel voice from directly behind Dean. "I was really beginning to wonder if you were smart enough to figure out where I was. But, then I realized that you would know I just couldn't resist coming back here." Dominic pressed the barrel of his gun into Dean's back as he further taunted, "You are truly my child. Like father, like son, we both returned to the scene of our crimes."


	41. Chapter 41

Sorry for the delays, I am once again dealing with computer issues and family medical issues . . . hope everyone is still enjoying...thanks for reading and for all the really great reviews... bambers;)

_Chapter Forty-One_

Dominic leaned in close, his breath warm and menacing against Dean's ear as he ordered, "Drop your gun."

Dean squeezed his eyelids closed and drew in a slow breath in an attempt to calm his rapidly beating heart. With Dominic's gun pressed firmly against his back, Dean knew he had no other option at the moment but to do as the older man had commanded. Yet, he also understood that even without his gun, he wasn't completely at Dominic's mercy. Somewhere just out of sight, Shannon was around, and every ingrained instinct honed from years of hunting told him that she was waiting to exact her revenge against her father.

He lowered his weapon and dropped it to the floor. "Did you kill Shannon yourself?" Dean asked as he cautiously slipped his hand inside his pocket to turn on the EVP recorder. "Or did you have someone else do it for you?"

"I loved Shannon more than anything, and I warned her not to ever think of leaving me. She chose not to listen." The smugness in Dominic's tone left little doubt in Dean's mind that the madman had killed his only real child and had felt no remorse for his actions.

"She was your daughter, the mother of your grandchild . . . how could you kill your own flesh an' blood an' not feel the slightest remorse?"

"Are you talking about Jared?" Dominic chuckled as he gripped hold of Dean's arm, swung him around and pushed him toward the front entrance to Pastor Jim's cabin. "He's not my grandchild, he's my son," he added as he opened the door and shoved Dean out into the yard.

Dean swallowed hard, cringing as horrible understanding dawned on him. "You . . . you slept with your own daughter?"

"She belonged to me, Dominic, an' I loved her," the Father casually replied as if there was nothing wrong with what he had just admitted. "You took her from me, so in turn, I took everything from you."

"You sick, twisted sonuvabitch," Dean hissed, anger now overriding any fear he might have felt at the moment. "How the hell could you do that to her?"

"You know, I watched you burn her body from over there," Dominic went on to say, completely ignoring Dean's question as he nudged his head toward an outcropping of trees. "Actually, I had planned on killing you, but then when I saw how meticulous you were in covering my trail, I realized how much we were alike, an' I knew you were meant to replace Shannon as my child."

"Then why didn't you jus' take me then?" Dean asked, purposely trying to steer the conversation toward what had happened to Sam. "Why the hell did you have to go after my brother as well?"

"Because your brother was a real pain in my ass." Dominic dug the barrel of the gun into Dean's back, forcing him to move toward where he had burned Shannon's body. "He actually had the nerve to come into my restaurant and threaten me. An' even after I had my children beat the living shit out of him, he got up an' came back for more." He paused for a moment and drew in a deep, staggered breath, and it seemed to Dean as if something bothered him about Sam, but when he spoke again, there was no hesitation or fear in his voice. "Then I realized that he was evil and needed to suffer. I marked him so everyone would know what he really is . . . so you would know what he truly is."

Dean's stomach began to churn as he recalled the crazed cult leader burning the word weak into his chest, and wondered exactly what Dominic had carved into his brother's chest. "How did you make him think it was me that was hurting him?"

Dominic laughed. "Enough drugs and just the right suggestion, and he believed anything I wanted him to. An' once he thought it was you that was hurting him instead of me, he just crumbled like a house of cards. He told me things . . . things I'm sure you don't even know . . . ." Dominic's voice trailed off, apparently reveling in the fact that he knew more about Sam than Dean did. "He's been keeping a huge secret from you, Dominic. Not a very brotherly thing to do, if you ask me."

"The name's Dean, you sonuvabitch. I think I know my brother well enough to know that when he feels the time is right, he'll tell me whatever it is that you're talkin' about." A brief smile lit across Dean's features, knowing that he now had the evidence he needed to prove to Sam that he hadn't been the one who hurt him. Not caring anymore that Dominic had a gun pointed directly at his back, Dean stopped walking and swung to glare at him. "An' for everything you did to him, I plan to make you suffer in ways you can't even possibly imagine."

"You?" Dominic smirked, clear disbelief written plainly across his features. "How could you possibly hope to hurt me? You're not even half the man you were when I found you."

"Maybe not," Dean conceded with a cocky grin, "but even at my worst, I'm still a hundred times more of a man than you'll ever be."

At Dean's taunt, Dominic's grin faltered for the briefest of moments. "You think they won't all leave you, Child?" he asked, reverting back to using the name he had called Dean when he had brainwashed him. "You think they don't know how truly pathetic and weak you are?"

"Your lies aren't gonna work this time." Dean defiantly met the older man's steely gaze. "My brother didn't leave me, an' my father came an' saved me from you."

"Huh, that may be true, but they're not here now, an' I'm the one holding the gun. So you see, in the end it really doesn't matter how much they care about you." His finger tensed on the trigger of his gun. "Cause you're gonna die, an' even if they search for you, they're never gonna be able to find your body."

Sweat beaded on Dean's brow and dripped from the nape of his neck as he eyed the gun in the older man's hand. Although he knew he had a knife stashed in his boot and another one sheathed at his side, Dominic was standing too close, and there was no way he would be able to reach either of them before the madman squeezed the trigger.

"Did you really think you had what it took to take the life of another man, Dean?" Dominic asked, the laughter clear in his tone as he used Dean's real name for the first time since he had abducted him. "Like I've said before, you're weak and pathetic. You just don't have what it takes to hold another person's life in your hands and decide whether they deserve to live or die."

"Like you did with Shannon?" Dean calmly replied as he felt a sudden coldness seep into the breeze as it kicked up abruptly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark wispy cloud hovering close by, and within it's depths he noticed a shadow forming. "You hated the idea that you just couldn't control her anymore, an' so you killed her in cold blood."

"No one defies me, Dean." Dominic shook his head as he reiterated, "No one. As I've told you before, my word is law, and those who even think to go against me have to suffer for it."

"An' it didn't even bother you when you stabbed your own child to death?" Dean prodded as he kept his sights trained on the shadowy figure who was slowly creeping toward Dominic.

"Did she happen to tell you her little secret?" Dominic asked, completely disregarding Dean's comment. Raising a quizzical brow, the madman waited for a response to his question, but when Dean failed to rise to the bait, he further added, "I told her if she came home I would forgive her for betraying me, an' the little bitch told me she was carrying your child. An' she actually had the nerve to smile when she said it like she really believed you could save her from me."

"Sh-she was . . . ." Dean's voice hitched in his throat and trailed off as his knees buckled. Hot tears stung at his eyes and slipped down his cheeks as he remembered how he had assured Shannon she would be safe from harm at Pastor Jim's cabin. He had seen the fear written so plainly on her face as she had begged him to stay, yet he had still left her to face Dominic on her own. Had he known she was carrying his baby, he would have never left her alone. "You killed my . . . my . . . you sonuvabitch. How could you do that?"

"Hmmm . . . I can see by your reaction that she never got the chance to tell you the good news." Dominic's features turned menacing, all traces of a smile disappearing as he drew in a breath and continued, "Tell me, how does it feel to know that you when you burned her body, you burned your own child's body as well?"

Something inside Dean snapped, rage now overriding any reason as he rushed the armed cult leader. As they both tumbled to the ground, Dominic's gun went off, the blast echoing through the trees as the bullet skimmed passed Dean's left bicep. Quickly pinning the older man to the ground, Dean went for the gun in Dominic's hand. With strength he didn't realize he possessed, Dean wrested it free from Dominic's hand and repeatedly slammed the barrel of the weapon into the murderer's face. Cocking back his arm, he smashed the gun down hard against Dominic's mouth. Blood spilled from the older man's lips as all his front teeth shattered.

Dominic bucked from beneath Dean, dislodging him. An evil glint filled the cult leader's eyes as he scampered to his feet, and spit out a mouthful of blood.

Dean rolled and hastily leapt to his feet. Leveling his weapon, Dean squeezed the trigger. A cry ripped from the cult leader lips as he jerked backward, the bullet tearing through his left bicep. Not giving the older man a chance to recover, Dean fired again, the bullet piercing through the muscles of Dominic's right arm.

Dominic wrapped his hands around the wounds, trying to staunch the flow of blood as he stumbled away from Dean. "If you're tr-tryin' to kill me, you're d-doin' a poor job of it," he taunted.

"Who said I was tryin' to kill you," Dean sneered, "I wanna see you suffer for what you did . . . I wanna see you on your knees begging me to stop." As he lowered his gun, his finger tensed on the trigger, and he fired again. Dominic dropped to his knees as the bullet lodged in his upper leg. "You hurt my brother." His booted foot abruptly shot outward and he kicked the madman in the chest, knocking him to the ground. "You broke his fingers," he hissed as he stomped on the cult leader's hand, and heard his bones snap. "You killed Shannon." Lowering his gun again, he aimed and fired, the bullet ripping through Dominic's other hand. "An' you killed my child," he uttered in a breathless whisper as he knelt beside his enemy and butted the barrel of the gun up against his forehead. "So you beg me to stop, like you made me beg, you fuckin' sonuvabitch."


	42. Chapter 42

so another new chappy...I'd love to say this story is just about through, but I am fearing it still has a long ways to go to complete it properly. I think there is about one more chappy to go before I begin to delve into the healing process for the entire Winchester clan. Thanks for reading and for all the wonderful reviews!! bambers;)

_Chapter Forty-Two_

Dominic raised his sights to look at the gun pressed against his forehead, and then refocused his attention on Dean. A mirthless laugh escaped his bloodied lips as he met and held Dean's gaze. "Squeeze the t-trigger," he challenged, sounding not the least bit intimidated.

"If you think for a moment that I won't kill you, you're dead wrong, you sonuvabitch," Dean snarled. Sweat beaded on his brow, and dripped down into his eyes as he realized how close he was to killing another living person. In hesitation, his finger twitched on the trigger.

"Do it! Prove y-you're my son. M-make m-me proud." Dominic winced as he spit out a mouthful of blood, but then a sardonic grin spread across his bruised and battered features. "Pr-prove that you're jus' like me."

Dean's hand lingered on the trigger a moment longer and then he lowered his weapon. "I'm not like you," he breathed in disgust, hating himself for not actually being able to go through with killing Dominic. But no matter how much the malicious cult leader might have deserved it, Dean wasn't a murderer.

"S-sure you are, Dominic," the cult leader taunted, reverting back to addressing Dean by the name he had given him. "When g-given the p-proper motivation, y-you're jus' exactly like me."

"What do you mean?" Dean had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that the the madman had somehow planned this confrontation and had prepared for it accordingly. He glanced around and for the first time realized that none of the Father's men had come to his aide. If they had been somewhere nearby Pastor Jim's cabin, assuredly they would have heard the sounds of gunfire, yet from what Dean could gather they were alone.

From there, Dean's thoughts immediately traveled to Sam. Although his little brother was with their father and Deacon, he knew they were planning on moving Sam from the hospital and that left them wide open to attack from Dominic's men.

"How much more do y-you think your brother can take?" Dominic jeered as he moved to wrap his injured hands around the gunshot wounds in his arms. "I'm guessin' not much from the look on your face."

"They'll never get to Sam," Dean hissed through clenched teeth, and balling his free hand into a fist, he slammed it into Dominic's face, knocking the older man to the ground again. "Not with my Dad there to protect him."

"Do I l-look like a stupid man to you, Dominic? Do I seem like the kind of person who would underestimate my enemies?" A maniacal laugh erupted from the madman as he spit out another mouthful of blood along with pieces of his broken teeth. "You took what was mine, an' now I'm t-takin' everything from you. An' by the time you leave here, you'll have nothing left to go back to."

Cold sweat prickled at Dean's back as stark fear welled and churned inside him. From everything he had learned of Dominic while being held as his captive, Dean knew instinctively that the elder man didn't make idol threats.

"What are you gonna do to them?" Dean asked, trying desperately to keep the tremor from his tone as sheer panic overrode any other emotion he was feeling at the moment.

"I'll give you a h-hint." Dominic pushed himself into a sitting position and leaned closer to Dean. A smirking grin settled on his features as he said, "It goes tick, tick, tick, BOOM." His dark eyes lit with pure malicious glee as he uttered the last word, leaving Dean with little doubt that he was telling the truth.

"You sick sonuvabitch!"

Dean raised his gun and leveled it on Dominic's forehead, and was about to pull the trigger when a horrible screeching sound caught him off guard. Before he was even able to figure out where the noise had come from, he was roughly thrown out of the way by an unseen force. From within a wisp of smoke, Shannon appeared in front of Dean, and with a twist of her hand, she knocked the gun out of his hand. A sad smile flitted across her face as she looked at him and then touched her stomach.

Then her image flickered, and within a blink, she was hovering beside Dominic. "You killed me," Shannon murmured. She bent and gently caressed her father's cheek, fingers trailing downward to grasp hold of his throat. "You killed my child." she leaned in and lightly kissed him on the lips, stealing his breath away. "You killed Dean's child." Shannon rose to her full height, dragging her father up off the ground.

"Sh-Shannon," Dominic croaked, eyes bulging in fear as he struggled to draw in a breath.

"You deserve to suffer." With that said, Shannon flung her father into the fire pit where Dean had burned her remains. She slowly raised her hands, and the breeze kicked up sending ash and debris flying throw the air. Thick branches snapped off several nearby trees, and with a single glance from her, they hurtled themselves like sharpen spears toward Dominic, impaling him to the ground. Blood-curdling screams ripped from Dominic's lips as more and more jagged pieces of wood pierced his flesh.

Within a flash, Shannon was standing in front of Dean again. She lifted her arm, and as she turned it Dean's knife unsheathed itself and flew into her outstretched hand. In a plume of fiery smoke she disappeared only to reappear in front of her father again. Kneeling beside him, she looked at the knife in her hand and it burst into flames.

"I forgive you, Father," she spat venomously as she drove the searing blade through his stomach, then raised it again and slammed it down into his forehead. Not yet finished, she stabbed him through the heart and with her final blow she viciously ripped through his windpipe. Blood spilled and bubbled from Dominic's lips as his gurgling screams died away. Dominic's head lolled to the side, dull, lifeless eyes staring directly at Dean, and the hunter couldn't help but breath a sigh of relief that the madman was finally dead.

She shifted to look at Dean, and smiled. "I'm sorry, Dean," she softly whispered, her voice carrying on the breeze to gently caress his face. Then she turned back to face her father and placed her hands on his motionless body, and within a heartbeat an explosion of golden-orange flames engulfed both Shannon and Dominic.

Dean shielded his eyes and shuffled backward as the roaring blaze grew in fierce intensity. Scorching flames licked at the dry grass and quickly spread outward toward Dean as thick, acrid smoke rose skyward. A sudden piercing scream tore from Shannon's lips as the fire violently imploded. The ground beneath Dean rumbled then cracked and buckled, and he hastily shimmied further back as the earth gave way, creating a massive, charred crater at least ten feet in diameter.

One last explosion rocked the earth, sending gray ash scattering through the air to rain down upon Dean as he slowly got to his feet. Edging his way around the crater, Dean scoured the area, searching for any signs of Dominic's remains, but couldn't find even the smallest piece of bone amongst the blackened ash and smoldering flames.

After one last look, he swung around and bolted for his car. With Dominic dead, his thoughts turned solely to saving Sam's life. By the time he slid behind the wheel of the Impala he was completely out of breath, and nearly doubled over as a sharp pain twisted in his side. Taking several deep inhales through his nostrils, his breathing slowly returned to normal and the pain subsided.

A brief thankful smile crossed his haggard features as he noticed his keys dangling from the ignition. However, the grin rapidly faded as he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Bobby laying in the backseat, and for a moment wondered if he might be dead.

"Bobby." Dean swiveled in his seat to check on the older hunter, and let out a deep sigh of relief when he heard him groan and curse in response. "I need your cell phone now, Bobby," he ordered, trying to keep his tone as even as possible under the circumstances.

"D-Dea . . . ." Bobby cracked one eye open to look at Dean, his other was swollen shut and already a deep shade of purple rimmed it.

"Yeah, Bobby, it's me." Dean winced as he surveyed the damage Dominic's men had done to his friend, guilt settling in as he realized it was his fault that Bobby had suffered the brutal attack. "I need your phone, I have to call my Dad an' warn him before it's too late."

"T-too late fer what?" Bobby managed to choke out as he struggled to sit up in his seat. Fishing around in his jacket pocket, he yanked out his phone and handed it to Dean.

"Dominic's men went after them, an' . . . ." Dean's voice abruptly trailed off as he recalled Dominic's last few words. If what he said was true, and Dean believed it was, then Sam and his father were running out of time.

"An' what?" Bobby leaned forward in his seat and placed a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Dominic . . . he mentioned . . . he said something about a bomb." Without waiting for the older hunter to respond, Dean jab the button on the phone, and waited for his Dad to answer, all-the-while praying that he wasn't too late. "Damn it," he swore under his breath when the call went immediately to voice mail. "He's not answering."

"C-call Deacon," Bobby suggested, although it wasn't really necessary as Dean had already scrolled down to their friend's number and placed the call.

After two rings, Deacon answered. "Hello?"

"Deacon, it's Dean," he said in a heated rush as he started the engine and tore out of the driveway. "Can I talk to my Dad? It's really important."

"I'm not with your Dad," came Deacon's voice over the line, "After we got Sam settled in the cabin John rented, he asked me to go out an' get some supplies."

"Where's the cabin?"

"What's wrong, Dean?" Concern now edged the elder man's tone. "Did you find Bobby?"

"Yeah, he's with me . . . look, I really need to know where my Dad and Sammy are."

"It's about a half hour's drive from the hospital, it's kinda hard to find, an' it's gettin' dark so it'll be near impossible to spot. So if you can meet me, I'll take you there."

Fear twisted in Dean's stomach as he listened to Deacon. His hands trembled as his grip tightened around the steering wheel. Dean pushed the gas pedal to the floor, and the Impala quickly picked up speed, eating up the miles in a flurry, but Dean still feared he wouldn't make it in time to save his little brother and father. "I don't know if we got that kind of time, Deacon. We have to get to them now."

"Tell me what's the matter, Dean," Deacon responded in a calm, even manner, taking on the reassuring tone of a police officer trying to get information from a frightened victim. "I can help you if you just tell me what's wrong."

"Dominic sent his men after Sam. He . . . he mentioned a bomb."

For several seconds Deacon remained silent, his unsteady breathing the only indication that he was still on the line. When he finally responded, there was a slight tremor in his voice. "I'll get to them, Dean. I swear I'm not gonna let anything happen to your family."


	43. Chapter 43

so another new chappy... I think there is about one more chappy to go before I begin to delve into the healing process for the entire Winchester clan. Thanks for reading and for all the wonderful reviews!! bambers;)

_Chapter Forty-Three_

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Deacon hadn't been gone all that long from the cabin John had rented when he'd received the call from Dean saying that Dominic's men had gone after Sam. Although the middle Winchester believed that the cult leader's followers were going after Sam, Deacon wondered if it was just another ploy meant to break Dean more than he was already broken. Yet he knew he couldn't afford to underestimate the madman either.

But as he pulled into the long driveway leading to the cabin, a sudden sense of dread settled over him. It was nearing dark outside, and yet not a single light shone from the two front windows. Deacon slowed his truck, pulled off into the grass, and killed the engine. For several moments, he watched for any movements coming from within the dwelling, his uneasiness growing as the seconds ticked by without seeing any signs of John or Sam. At the very least, he had expected to see the eldest Winchester peer out the window to see who had driven into the driveway, and the fact that he didn't, set off clear warning bells inside Deacon's head.

Deacon grabbed for his gun, and slid out of the truck, quietly shutting the door behind him. Although he would have preferred to rush right inside the cabin, years of being a police officer told him he needed to secure the perimeter and check for any hidden dangers. If he just ran headlong into the house without giving it any thought, he would not only be putting John and Sam in danger, but himself as well.

Easing himself around to the backside of the cabin, Deacon noticed a light coming from inside the small storage shed. With his gun raised and mindful of his surroundings, he cautiously crept toward the outbuilding. Slowly he turned the handle, and pried open the door to have a look inside. His breath caught in his throat as he saw his longtime friend handcuffed to a chair with a bomb taped to his chest. Blood dripped from a deep gash in his forehead, and even from where he was standing, Deacon could see the raised welt on the hunter's forehead. Thick gray duct tape was pressed over John's mouth, but it didn't keep him from nudging his head toward the house.

Although Deacon understood that John wanted him to go after Sam, he couldn't leave the eldest Winchester without first trying to disarm the bomb. Now reverting back to using all his military training, Deacon accessed the explosive device and swore under his breath when he notice Dominic's men had used a mercury switch in the detonator. "Whatever you do, John, don't move a muscle," he ordered, as he carefully pried off the tape covering his friend's mouth. "The damn thing's on a mercury switch, so if you do we both get blown all to hell."

"Jus' leave it an' go save Sammy," John hissed, careful not to make even the slightest movement.

"I can't leave you like this," Deacon argued as he located the timer, and swore again as he saw that he had less than ten minutes left to disarm the bomb. "Jus' let me disarm this damn thing an' then we'll both go after Sam together."

"No, you go save Sam now." John's voice trembled as he spoke, eyes filling with stark fear as they met and held Deacon's gaze. "They had a second bomb, an' if you try an' save me first, he'll be dead by the time you reach him."

"I can't jus' leave you to die, John," Deacon tried to reason as he made to disarm the bomb.

"I swear, if you don't go after Sammy now, I'll make sure neither of us leaves this building alive."

The look of fierce determination now gleaming in the hunter's dark orbs left Deacon with no doubt that he would do just as he had said. "I didn't save my boy from that sonuvabitch just to let him die now. So you go after him, an' you save his life for me. Do you hear me?"

"I can save you both. I swear I can."

"Good, save him first an' then come back for me."

From past experience, Deacon knew there was no point in arguing with John when he had made his mind up about something. And with the knowledge that his son's life was in danger, John would go to any means to save him, even if that meant he died himself in the process.

Deacon hesitated for the briefest of moments before he nodded. "Alright, John, I'll do it your way."

"Thanks, Deacon." John paused to draw in a shallow breath, and then uttered, "If you can't . . . I mean if there isn't enough time, tell them both . . . ." his voice trailed off as tears filled his eyes. "Make sure they know I . . . ."

"Don't worry, John, I'll make sure they know," Deacon assured. With his heart breaking for his friend, he turned and bolted out the door.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

From Dominic taunts, Dean knew his little brother was running out of time. If he didn't reach Sam soon then it wouldn't matter if the cult leader was dead, he still would have won. In killing the youngest Winchester, he would succeed in killing Dean as well. It didn't matter if it was actually by Dominic's hand that Dean was murdered, if Sam died tonight, Dean would follow him in his death.

With that thought in mind, Dean broke every traffic law in the book as he sped toward the cabin his father had rented. Blowing through every single red stoplight he came across, he nearly struck several vehicles, but never even bothered to slow down in the slightest as he raced against the clock to save his brother.

"He's gonna be alright," came Bobby's reassuring voice from the backseat as he placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. "We'll make it in time."

"You don't know that, Bobby," Dean responded in a deadly calm tone. "Dominic said I'd never make it in time to save Sammy."

"Well, he'd have to make it past yer Dad, an' I jus' don't see that happening."

"Yeah, cause my Dad's always around when we need him the most, isn't he?" Glancing in the rearview mirror, Dean narrowed his eyes on the older man, daring him to deny that John was never around when they needed him. "Hell, they should give him a trophy for Father of the Year cause he's been such a great dad."

"I'm not sayin' he's always been there, what I'm sayin' is he's here now. So give him a break cause he's doin' the best he can."

"His best just isn't good enough anymore, Bobby. Me an' Sammy deserved better than this." He gestured around the Impala, and then toward the broken windshield. "We deserved better than gunshot wounds and broken bones, an' so many damn scars I can't even keep track of them anymore."

Bobby fell silent, not about to argue the point with Dean. The younger man was right. They did deserve a helluva lot better than the lives that had been thrust upon them. But no matter how much he might have wished they could lead regular lives, they had been raised to be hunters and never would fit in with normal society no matter how hard they tried.

"I've done everything he's ever asked of me. I never complained, never question him. I tried to save as many people as I could . . . tried to save her, jus' like he taught me . . . ." Dean's voice trailed off as he brusquely raked his fingers through his short, bristly hair. _She was gonna have my baby . . . I was gonna be a dad, an he jus' took that away from me. He took everything, but I'll be damned if he takes Sammy, too._

Dean pressed the accelerator to the floor, and picking up speed, he flew out of town. White-knuckling the steering wheel, he took a right turn on two-wheels, tired screeching loudly as he hit the brakes to accommodate the sudden turn. As he sped up once again, Dean kept an eye out for the log cabin hidden amongst the trees that his father had rented. Up ahead in the distance, Dean noticed a flag with a picture of two humming birds depicted on it, and immediately slowed to a crawl. Deacon had said that the cabin was the next house right after the colorful bird flag. But even with that helpful marker, Dean still nearly missed the stone driveway nestled beneath a canopy of trees.

Pulling into the driveway, he came to a grinding halt next to Deacon's truck. Not waiting to see if Bobby would follow, he flung open the car door and bolted for the cabin. The front door smacked hard against the wall as he threw it open and burst into the room. Dean stopped dead in his tracks when he saw that his little brother's hands and ankles were tied to the bed. As he crept closer to the bed, his fearful gaze met and held his brother's. Several new bruises littered his brother's face, purplish welts mingling with older faded ones.

Dean took another step forward, and then halted abruptly, his breath catching in his throat as he saw some sort of explosive device duct taped to Sam's chest. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down from the nape of his neck as he quickly closed the gap and came to stand in front of his brother. As carefully as he could manage, he removed the gage from Sam's mouth, and tossed it aside.

"I'm gonna get you outta this, Sammy, don't worry," he breathed as he studied the bomb, and noted that he only had a little over five minutes to save his brother's life. Stark fear wrapped itself around his heart as he realized he had no idea how to disarm the explosive.

The bomb itself was encased inside of a metal box. In the center of the steel box, a smaller Plexiglas box held the digital timer. Three colored wires coming from inside the metal housing mechanism were attached to a timer. Beneath the timer was a small cylinder tube with what looked like liquid silver floating in the center. With each breath Sam took, the silver liquid moved back and forth toward the end of the tube. Even if Dean had never actually seen a bomb in real life, he'd watched enough movies to know that the tiny silver blob inside the cylinder was mercury.

"D-Dean, I ---"

"Sammy, don't talk," Dean abruptly cut him off as he saw the mercury bob closer toward the end of the tube. "An' whatever you do, don't move."

Dean swung to look around for tools to pry open the box and wire cutters to snip the wires leading to timer. Rushing to the kitchen cabinets and drawers, he threw them open and quickly rummaged through them. In the third drawer he searched through, he found a small screwdriver along with a pair of cutters. With tools in hand, he scurried back to the bed, and very carefully eased himself onto the mattress.

_Damn it, what the hell am I supposed to do? I don't know how to disarm a freakin' bomb._

"Stop, Dean," came a voice from near the front door way.

Startled, Dean jerked, and his heart skipped a beat as the mercury slid closer to the detonator. Sam let out a small whimper, tears slipping down the sides of his face as he eyed the bomb and then looked to Dean, silently begging him to save him.

"Stay back, Deacon," Dean murmured, careful to move as little as possible for fear he might set off the explosive. "I've got this."

"Listen to me, Dean," Deacon commanded in a strained voice, "your father is in the shed with a bomb tied to him, too. I'm gonna go back out there an' we're gonna disarm these damn things simultaneously, but I need you to do exactly what I say, precisely when I tell you to do it. Understand?"

Without turning to look at the older man, Dean hissed through gritted teeth, "How the hell am I supposed to do that when you're out there an' I'm in here?"

"I want you to carefully take out your cell phone, an' I'll call you." Deacon drew in a deep breath as he waited until Dean did as he had asked, and then further added, "You can do this, Dean, you jus' gotta be real careful. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yeah."

"Alright." Without saying another word, Deacon slipped out of the house, heading back to the shed to save John.

Within a matter of moments, Dean's phone rang and he immediately answered it. "What do I gotta do first?" he said in a breathless rush, hands trembling as he cradled the phone against his ear and shoulder.

"Carefully unscrew the four screws around the glass box, then slowly remove it. An' whatever you do, make sure you don't hit the little glass cylinder." Deacon was silent for a moment, his steady breathing the only sound coming over the line. "We'll do it together, Dean. Are you ready."

"Uh huh," Dean said as he position his screwdriver over the first of the four screws. From behind him, he sensed that Bobby was nearby and it gave him the courage to proceed onward.

"Okay, do it now," Deacon instructed.

Sweat dripped down into his eyes as he painstakingly removed all four of the screws. "Okay, got 'em all. Now I'm takin' off the box."

"You're doin' great, Dean." Deacon waited a moment, and then added, "Jus' take it slow, got me?"

"Yeah, I gotcha," Dean muttered as he cautiously lifted the glass box off the explosive and set it aside. Wiping the sweat off his forehead and out of his eyes, he then glanced at the time, and swore under his breath. "Only three minute's left, what's next?"

"There should be three wires leading to the timer, do you see them?"

"Yeah, there are three of 'em. Blue, red, an' black."

"Good. On the count of three, we are both gonna cut the blue wire. Got me?"

Swallowing hard, Dean took the wire cutters in hand and prepared to do as Deacon had instructed. "Okay, on your count."

"One . . . two . . . three."

Dean snipped the wire the second he heard three, and the timer stopped on two minutes twenty-seven seconds. "The timer stopped." He breathed a sigh of relief until heard ticking coming from inside the metal box. "Damn it, the box is still ticking, Deacon."

"That's alright, Dean, I expected that," Deacon assured, "there's probably an internal timer inside the box, but we took care of the mercury switch. Now get your screwdriver and open the box."

Unscrewing each of the four screws, Dean carefully removed the lid, making sure he lifted it straight up so as not to jar anything inside the explosive. "It's off."

"Alright, so is mine," Deacon uttered after a second. "What do you see?"

"It looks like a brick of grayish-pink putty with metal rods sticking out of it."

"Okay, I got the same thing here," Deacon confirmed that both bombs were made of the same materials. "You should see a detonating cord an' two detonating clips. On the end of the clips, they should be capped with boosters."

"Yeah, I see 'em." Dean cast a hasty glance in his brother's direction, and tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it died on his lips when he saw the terrified look in his brother's hazel eyes. "Don't worry, Sammy, I gotcha, I'm not gonna let anything happen to you."

Returning his attention to Deacon, Dean uttered, "What do I do now?"

"I want you to carefully remove both clips, on the count of three. Understand?"

Drawing in a calming breath, he took hold of both clips. "Yep, gotcha."

"One . . . two . . . three."

Dean heaved a deep sigh as he removed the clips and the ticking stopped. "Did we do it? It stopped ticking . . . is it disarmed?"

After several very long seconds, wherein Dean's heart pounded wildly against his chest, Deacon finally uttered, "Yeah, Dean, we did it."

With the older man's confirmation that both bombs had successfully been disarmed, Dean nearly collapsed. His body trembled uncontrollably as he untied Sam from the bed and removed the explosive from his chest. Bobby moved to help him, but Dean pushed him away.

"I got this," he said in a shaky voice as he removed the last of the binds holding his little brother, and pulled him into his embrace, wrapping his arms firmly around Sam's back. "I gotcha, little brother," he soothed as he felt Sam tremble against him and heard him sobbing. "I swear it's all over, that sonuvabitch is never gonna hurt you again."


	44. Chapter 44

I know it's kind of a short chappy, but I really thought this was a good place to end it...thanks for reading and for all the really great reviews, i really live for them!! bambers;)

_Chapter Forty-Four_

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For a moment everything was right again between the brothers. For a moment Dean was his big brother. His protector. For a mere second in time, he was once again the one person Sam relied upon the most to make everything all right.

But with a feather-soft touch of Dean's hand across his bruised and tender back, Sam's heart skipped a beat then set of at a frantic pace. Unexpected panic seized hold of him as he wildly slapped his brother's hands away, and pushed himself as far away as he possibly could without actually falling off the bed. His breath came in short panted bursts as his heart clenched painfully. Faster and faster his heart beat, his breath becoming shallower as he fought to draw in air.

"It's alright, Sammy, I gotcha," Dean tried to soothe, but Sammy pushed him away and leapt off the bed. Confusion and pain briefly registered in Dean's eyes before he masked it within a comforting smile. "He's gone, lil' brother." He took a step toward Sam with arms outstretched, in a gesture meant to reassure Sam that he would cause him no harm.

Sam moved further away, and a small escaped him as his back butted up against the wall, and he realized he was trapped. Sliding down the wall, he wrapped his arms around his head as fear took a firm, unrelenting hold of him. Cold sweat prickled at the nape of his neck, and trailed down over the healing whip marks on his back, painfully reminding him that his fears were not unfounded.

"Sammy, please," Dean's voice turned to pleading as he edged his way closer to Sam. "I swear I'm not gonna hurt you."

Sam pushed himself closer to the wall as Dean reached out to touch his arm, another frantic cry slipping from his lips as he twisted away from him. "D-Don't touch me . . . d-don't hurt me again," the words tumbled from his mouth in a breathy rush.

Dean instantly recoiled, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't hide the hurt and pain so clearly etched into every single line and detail of his face this time around. "I never hurt you, lil' brother, you have to believe me . . . I-I would never . . . ." his voice trailed off he he backed away from Sam. "You jus' have to believe me."

Sliding his hand into his pocket, Dean's fingers touched upon the EVP recorder with Dominic's taped confession. For several very long moments he grappled with the notion of playing the recording for Sam, but in the end he just couldn't do it. If the only way he could prove to Sam that he hadn't been the one to hurt him was by playing the tape, then he'd rather Sam go on believing whatever he chose to believe.

He needed Sam to trust him. He needed his brother to believe in him without any tangible proof other than his given word that he would never harm him. But what he saw in his little brother's terrified hazel eyes was vast insurmountable mistrust and fear. It was a look that clearly said that the bond they had once shared as brothers was now tattered and torn beyond repair.

_Just let him listen to it, Dean, _a small inner voice pleaded with him. _If he hears it, he'll believe you. Jus' swallow your pride an' play the tape for him._

Yet, for the gnawing, unbearable ache in his heart, Dean still couldn't bring himself to share the tape with his little brother. With a curt nod, Dean slowly rose to his feet. "It's alright, Sammy, I understand," he mumble in a barely audible whisper. With head hung low in a defeated manner, Dean headed out of the cabin.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Never one to normally interfere into the personal lives of others, Bobby stood by and watched both of the younger Winchesters over the next few days, hoping against hope that they would resolve some their issues with each other. But as the days went by and things only got worse, he knew in his heart he needed to step in and knock some sense into both of them.

From the moment Dean had walked out the door after saving Sam's life, Sam had withdrawn into himself, not speaking to a single person. Still recovering from his injuries, Sam had spent a good share of his time in restless slumber. But even when he was awake, he remained stonily silent. Several times, Bobby, John or Deacon had tried to engage the ailing Winchester in conversation, but their attempts might as well have fallen on deaf ears. And although John had brought the youngest Winchester his laptop to use, it still remained untouched on the bedside table where John had left it.

As the days progressed, any spark of life left in his hazel eyes dwindled to nothingness. And the only time Bobby saw even a hint of emotion registering in them was whenever Sam's wary gaze lit upon Dean for the briefest of moments before he hastily looked away.

But for as bad off as Sam was emotionally, Bobby was more concerned about Dean. The middle Winchester had thrown himself recklessly into the hunt for the rest of Dominic's men. Bobby had always thought that Dean was a little reckless in his pursuit to please John, but now there was a desperation in the younger hunter's green eyes that Bobby had never witnessed before, and it terrified him.

Like his little brother, Dean hadn't spoken a word since he had walked out after rescuing Sam from the explosives. Bobby had silently watched the exchange between the two Winchesters, and although he could almost understand Sam's irrational fears, his heart broke for Dean who had tried to reach out to him. Despite all the damage Dominic had done to Dean, Bobby feared the killing blow had come from the youngest Winchester that night.

Although John seemed to believe if they gave Sam and Dean some time and space to deal with all that had happened to them, his boys would eventually come around, Bobby wasn't as certain. Bobby understood that it was more than likely wishful thinking on the eldest Winchester's part, but also knew the longer they allowed the two brothers to drift ever closer toward the edge of the perilous cliff they were now teetering on, the harder it would be to pull them back to safety.

Determined to try and make things right between the two Winchesters, Bobby headed out of the cabin to find Dean. As Dean spent most of his time outside away from John or Sam, either in the shed cleaning his weapons or sitting in his car doing research, Bobby didn't have a very hard time locating him. The first place he checked was the Impala, and when he didn't find Dean there, he traveled around to the back of the cabin and found the younger man in the shed. With his head lowered as he sharpened the blade of his favorite knife, Dean gave no indication that he'd even noticed Bobby standing in the doorway.

Clearing his throat, Bobby briefly gained Dean's attention before he refocused all his energy on the task at hand. It was unsettling, to say the very least, to see the young hunter so deathly quiet. In the past, the only times Dean wasn't speaking or cracking really bad jokes was when he was unconscious after a hunt gone wrong or when he was asleep.

"Thought I might find you out here," Bobby began awkwardly. "Your Dad's almost got dinner ready. Spaghetti and meatballs, one of your favorites." He hitched a thumb back toward the cabin, but let his hand fall back to his side when Dean failed to acknowledge him. "I changed Sam's bandages a little while ago, an' everything seems to be healing nicely."

Dean glanced at Bobby through lowered lashes, and gave a subtle nod as he chewed pensively at his lower lip. Then without a word, he sheathed his knife in the holster at his side, and began cleaning one of his shotguns.

After several unbearable moments of utter silence, Bobby tried to reach out to the younger hunter again. "Your Dad seems to think the rest of Dominic's men hightailed it out of here, an' probably left the state. He an' Deacon have looked everywhere for them, but they've turned up nothin' so far."

Again, Dean gave a nod of understanding as he checked and cleaned the barrel of his shotgun. Once he was certain that the weapon was in proper working order, he placed it inside his duffel bag, and picked up his .45 and meticulously set to work cleaning it.

As nothing he had said so far seemed to be getting through to Dean, Bobby decided to try another tactic to reach him. "Your brother hasn't been eating, an' he's startin' to have some really bad nightmares. Maybe you should talk to him?"

At this, Dean lowered his weapon to rest on his lap and looked up at Bobby. Such intense sadness filled Dean's green eyes as he held Bobby's gaze that he was forced to look away. "What more do you want me to do for him, Bobby? He wants me to stay away so that's what I'm doin'."

"He just needs some time, Dean. He'll come around."

Pursing his lips, Dean shook his head. "No, he doesn't, cause no matter what anyone thinks or says to the likewise, time doesn't heal all wounds. An' some wounds," he hesitated as he drew in a shaky breath, and then pushes onward, "some of them just eat away at ya an' fester until there's nothin' left."

Dean fell silent again as he finished cleaning his gun, and slipped it into his waistband behind his back. With all his weapons cleaned and checked, he zipped up his duffel bag, hooked it over his shoulder, and brushing past Bobby he headed toward the Impala.

Bobby followed, picking up his pace when he saw Dean open the car door and throw his duffel onto the passenger's seat. The younger hunter slid behind the wheel of his car, slammed the door shut and started the engine.

"Dean, where the hell are you going?" A sick, queasy feeling settled into the pit of Bobby's stomach, as he now realized what he hadn't figured out before. Dean hadn't just been cleaning his weapons, he'd been preparing himself for a hunt. He'd been so single-minded in his determination to help the younger man that it had just slipped past his attention that Dean hadn't put his knife or .45 away with the other weapons in the duffel. "You can't go after them on your own, Dean. You're in no shape to take 'em on by yourself, boy, so wait an' let me or your Dad come with you."

"No." Dean gave a quick shake of his head. Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, he yanked out a note and EVP recorder and handed it to Bobby. "Here, make sure Sammy gets this, an' make sure you take care of him for me," Dean muttered as he hit the gas pedal and sped out of the driveway, gravel and dust kicking up a trail in his wake.

There was such a sad note of finality in his parting words, Bobby was left with little doubt that Dean had no intension what so ever of making it back to the cabin alive. "Damn it, Dean," he swore under his breath as he pivoted on his heel and rushed inside the cabin to get John.


	45. Chapter 45

okay as I have stated numerous times before this an extremely long story. That being said, this chapter is the beginning of a new arc in the story. In the last chapter Dean took off on his own, hellbent on hunting down Dominic's men. This arc in the story picks up after considerable time has passed. I am actually quite nervous about posting it like this, but I think there are some really cool twists coming up in future chappies, so I am hoping everyone sticks it out to the end...bambers;)

_Missing Presumed Dead_

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_Chapter Forty-Five_

"Need a room," Dean mumbled to the motel clerk, leaning hard against the counter to keep himself upright. A wave of dizziness nearly overwhelmed him, forcing him to press his injured torso closer to the wooden surface as he rested his forearms on the counter.

"Sure thing, Buddy," an older gentleman with salt-pepper hair said as he looked over his registration book. He looked up, and his sights were immediately drawn to the blood trailing down Dean's forehead from the deep gash just below his hairline. "You okay, son?" he asked concernedly as he gestured toward the wound on Dean's head.

"Yeah, I jus' . . . ." Dean touched his fingers to gash on his forehead and grimaced. "I jus' hit my head on the trunk when I was getting my bag out."

"You're sure you're okay?" His gaze lingered on Dean briefly, before lowering his head as if embarrassed.

"Yeah. M'okay."

The older man gave a subtle nod, seemingly believing Dean. "You alone or are you gonna need a spare key?"

"Jus' me." Dean swallowed hard, against the bile rising in his throat. His vision blurred, and he felt himself waver on shaky legs, but somehow managed to keep a firm hold on the desk so as not to fall.

"How long ya stayin'?" the short, bespectacled man asked, turning the register for Dean to write his signature.

"Couple of days." Careful to keep his leather jacket pulled tight over his bloodied flannel shirt, Dean took hold of the pen the man handed him, and signed his name. Then he reached into his pocket, yanked out his money, and tossed a small pile of crumpled bills on the counter. "Tha' should cover it."

Without waiting for any change, he trudged out the door, and headed to his room. Once inside, he dropped his duffel bag on the floor, collapsed on the bed, and yanked out his cell phone. Once again, as he had done so many times in the past few months, he replayed the messages on his voicemail, needing to hear the sound of a familiar voice.

"Dean, it's Dad, where the hell are you? It's been over a week, an' I've been looking everywhere for you. Give up the search for them, an' come back. Sam needs you." His father paused as if waiting for Dean to pick up the phone, but after a few moments, he continued onward, "When you get this message, call me back."

"End message one," the voice recorder announced, and within a moment the next one began.

"_Dean, it's been three weeks now. You need to come back." _His father sounded a little more desperate now, but as always, Dean could detect the order in what he had said. "_Sam's staying at Bobby's while I'm out lookin' for you. Your little brother needs you, so stop runnin' an' find your way back home."_

Tears filled Dean's eyes, and he hastily brushed them aside, knowing he had no right to cry. He was the one who had hurt Sam. If it hadn't been for him, his little brother never would have been taken prisoner by Dominic. Sam had every reason to hate him, and every reason to push him away, and no matter how much it hurt like hell, he would respect his brother's wishes.

"End message two," the voice recorder sounded.

"Damn it Dean, it's been well over a month now." Concern was now definitely evident in the older hunter's tone as went on to say, "I know if you don't wanna be found, then I'm not gonna find you, but I really need to know if you're okay. So when you get this message call me back."

Dean pushed himself into a sitting position, and shrugged off his jacket as he waited for the next message to play. Wincing, he pulled off his tattered flannel, and groaned when he saw the deep gash in his side. Cradling the phone to his ear, he grabbed for his duffel to get out the first aid kit.

"Dean, it's Bobby. You're Father's told me he hasn't heard from you in almost a month an' a half. Where the hell are you, boy?" Behind the gruffness of his tone, Dean could hear the sadness in his friend's voice, and consciously tried to block it out. "Sam's here, an' I know he's worried sick about you." Bobby drew in a staggered breath, and if Dean didn't know better, he could've sworn the older hunter was on the verge of tears. "Can't get him to say more than a word or two, here an' there, an' I'm really getting worried about him. He needs you to come home, Dean. We all need you to come home . . . Anyway, when you get this message call me back."

Dean's gaze slid to the empty bed beside his own, and for a moment envisioned Sam sound asleep underneath the covers. Blinking hard as tears blurred his vision, he rubbed the moisture from his eyes and refocused all his attention on cleaning and stitching his wound. A low hiss escaped him as he dabbed a gauze pad against the gash in his side to clean away the dirt and debris that had gotten into the wound. Dousing another gauze with saline, he carefully cleansed the injury more throughly, and grabbed another pad to press against the still bleeding gash.

"_Dean, this is Dad. It's been over two months now, an' I still haven't heard from you." _There was something different about his father's voice now as spoke. Deep, heartbroken sadness filled his tone, making it hard to listen to without breaking down. _"I need to know that you're still alive, so please call me back as soon as you get this message."_

"End of messages," the recorded voice announced.

Dean tossed the phone on the bed, and prepared to stitch his wound. Drawing the needle through his flesh, he winced as he wrapped it around and tied it off. His stomach curled snakelike as he drew the needle through again, a low hiss escaping him as he continued onward with sewing up the long jagged cut. Speckled dots of black played before his eyes as he finished off the last of the stitches, and placed a wide gauze pad across the wound and taped it securely.

Slowly making his way to his feet, he trudged to the bathroom. At the sink, he flipped on the water, and cupping his hands together, he filled them with cool water to splash on his grim-covered face. The water in the sink turned from a pale brown to a rusty color as blood dripped from the jagged cut on his forehead. It probably needed stitches, but Dean just didn't think he had the strength at the moment to accomplish the task without passing out.

Once finished cleaning his face, he turned off the water and grabbed for a towel. As he wiped the droplets of water from his face, Dean caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

Eyes, hollow and lifeless reflected back at him. Dark smudges circled his eyes, attesting to how hard he had pushed himself, and how little sleep he had gotten. His hair had now grown back fully, and if anything was a bit more shaggy than he would've normally worn it. Lifting back his bangs, he grimaced as he noticed a rather large bump on his head. Gently, he dabbed his finger against the cut, and cursed under his breath. "Yeah, that definitely is gonna need stitches.

He scrubbed his hand through the thick, scruffy beard that now graced his haggard features. As he did so, his thoughts turned once again to Sam. _He never called . . . not once in all this time . . . he never called. If he had jus' called once . . . ._

Dean looked at his reflection again, and his lips curled into a scowl, hating what he saw. His fists clenched tightly as he continued to stare at himself. _Why would he call you? You were supposed to protect him. You had one job to do, an' you screwed it all to hell. He hates you, Dean. _

"Damn it, Sammy, why didn't you call me?" An abrupt cry ripped from his lips as he slammed his fist into the mirror, shattering it. Blood dripped from his knuckles as he cocked back his fist and struck the glass another time. Sinking to the floor, he pushed himself up against the wall, drew up his knees and lowered his head to rest on his forearms. He sat like that for the longest time, too tired to move and too heartbroken to care.

He had tried to find the rest of Dominic's men, had searched everywhere he could think of to locate them, but no matter how hard he had tried it seemed as if they had just disappeared. And realizing that he had once again failed to protect Sam, he had thrown himself into hunting whatever evil he could find.

His father had been right when he said that if Dean didn't want to be found, they would never find him. He had stuck way below the radar, never staying in one particular town any longer than it took to kill whatever he was hunting at the time, and then he moved on to the next hunt. Not wanting to leave any sort of paper trail behind that his Dad or Bobby might be able to follow, he had stopped using fake credit cards and resorted to gambling and pool to survive. And several times when money had been scarce or he was too injured to move onward, he slept in his car. But luckily for him, this latest hunt was a paying gig. Although from the way the damn poltergeist tossed him around like a rag doll before Dean had finally sent it packing, he should have really asked for more money. But at least he had a bed to sleep in for the night, and had to be grateful for that at the moment.

As he began to nod off, the sound of his phone ringing drew him back to consciousness. He waited until the cell stopped ringing before he dragged himself to his feet. Hearing the quiet beeping tone announcing another voice mail, he plodded back to his bed, slumped onto the mattress and snatched up the phone to listen to the message.

"Dean, it's Dad," his father said in a very shaky voice. "I've tried everything I know how to do to find you, an' still haven't turned up anything. I'm not even sure you're gettin' this message as I tried tracking you through GPS, an' came up with a dead end." His father drew in a staggered breath, and continued, "Sam's not doin' good at all . . . all his injuries have healed okay, but he's not . . . I dunno, he's just not the same. He spends all his time alone, and barely speaks to anyone." John fell silent again, and Dean awaited with bated breath to hear what his father would say next. "I know Bobby called you before an' told you about Sammy, so I'm guessin' if you were alright, you would've come home by now. I don't wanna believe your dead, s-son," his voice hitched in his throat. "but it's been over two months now, so I'm kinda getting' short on hope. So if you're listenin' to this, please call me back an' let me know you're okay."

Dean rewound the message and played it again, tears slipping silently down his cheeks as he heard the hopeless resignation in his father's voice. _He thinks you're dead, Dean . . . he's given up on you. _It was Dominic's cold and calculating voice Dean now heard inside his head, and the bitter truth was that he was right. The message was nothing more than a goodbye. _He has Sammy, why would he still need you? He's better off without you messing up everything. _

Dean's hand clenched tightly around the phone as he listened to the voice inside his head. _That's right, Dean. To them you're dead . . . they're not gonna be lookin' for you anymore. _Cocking back his arm, Dean heaved the phone at the wall, and watched as the broken pieces fell to the floor. _So now it's only a matter of time before you really do die . . . ._


	46. Chapter 46

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So, I had two chappies written, one with Sam and this one with Dean...I decided to post this one first, don't ask me why cause i'll be darned if I know...thanks for reading and for all the wonderful reviews!! bambers;)

_Chapter Forty-Six_

From her seat at the bar, Marianna noticed the younger man the moment he stepped into the bar. The bearded man stood at the entrance for several very long moments, looking around the room as if trying to find someone, but then took a seat by himself at the far corner of the establishment. Through veiled eyes, she watched as he lowered his head to rest against laced fingers. A deep and unsettling sadness exuded from him, and even from where she sat, she could tell he was trembling as if in pain.

Gaining the bartender's attention, she tapped her mug then raised two fingers, and he winked in response. Within a moment, the dark-haired bartender placed two beers in front of her, and as she went to hand him some money to pay for them he gave a quick shake of his head.

"It's on the house," he said with a smile before returning his attention to the other bar patrons.

Marianna slipped off her barstool, and carrying the two drinks in hand, she headed over to the desolate looking man she had been watching. Clearing her throat to gain his attention, she set one of the glass mugs down in front of him. "Here, I thought you looked as if you could use a drink."

The young, green-eyed man glanced up at her, and a brief smile lit across his haggard features. "Actually, I probably look like I could use several drinks." He let out a short mirthless laugh. "But this'll get me started. Thanks."

Without waiting for him to offer her a seat, she slid onto the bench seat across from him. "You also look as if you could use someone to talk to, an' I've always been told that I'm a good listener."

Dean eyed the older woman for a moment, and for some strange reason he found it comforting to stare into her kindly bluish-gray eyes. Just a hint of gray touched her long, wavy chestnut hair, and from that he surmised that she must have been in her late forties. From the small creases in the corners of her eyes, he gathered that she had laughed often in her life. And there was a gentleness in her smile that immediately set him at ease.

"Look, I'm not lookin' for . . . ." his voice trailed off, suddenly feeling awkward that the older woman was trying to pick him up, and he was about to turn her down.

"Whoa, easy there tiger," she chuckled, "I mean you're cute an' all, but you're young enough to be my son." She laughed heartily when the heat rose to flush Dean's face. "In fact, you're probably just about the same age as my oldest boy."

If it were even possible, Dean's cheeks grew even warmer in embarrassment. He licked his suddenly dry lips as he thought of what to say. "I'm sorry, I jus' . . . ." his voice trailed off as he scratched at the back of his head. "I'm jus' not in the mood for company."

"Oh, alright," she uttered, clear disappointment in her tone as she moved to stand, but then stopped short. "You know, sometimes it helps to talk to strangers. They can't judge you cause they don't know you. An' if you don't mind me saying, you look as if the weight of the world is dragging you down."

"I look that bad, do I?" Another wry laugh issued past Dean's lips. "Damn, an' here I thought I was hiding it pretty well, too."

"Naww . . . not that bad." She smiled as she held out her hand to shake his, "I'm Marianna McLane, by the way."

He took her hand in his, and held it for a moment longer than necessary, before letting go. "I'm . . . Dean . . . Dean Winchester," he had thought to lie to her, but his real name slipped from his lips before he could stop himself.

"So, Dean, do you have any family living around here?" She quirked a delicate brow as she waited intently for his response.

For a moment, he thought to mention Sam to her, but then shook his head. "I don't have any family left." A sad smile lingered on his lips as he said this. Swallowing hard against the painful lump forming in his throat, he took a long drink of his beer.

"I'm sorry." She took hold of his hand, and gently squeezed it in a reassuring manner. "I have two sons, but they don't live around here. An' my husband's . . . well, he' been gone for a while now. So I'm pretty much on my own, too." Marianna met and held his gaze as she went on to say, "I just moved here not too long ago. I bought the Simmon's place out on Cold Creek Road." She hitched her free hand over her shoulder as if gesturing toward the direction of her home.

"The Simmon's place?" Dean's posture instantly stiffened, recalling the home with startling clarity. The last time he had passed through Elmira, New York with Sam, they'd come across several nasty spirits living in the old farm home where she now resided. Although they had finally dispelled them all, Sam had been badly injured, and Dean had ended up rushing him to the hospital. "I thought that home was condemned?"

"Well, it probably should've been," she admitted rather reluctantly. "It needs a lot of work before I can get the farm up and running, but I just fell in love with the place the moment I saw it."

"How is the house . . . I mean, do you ever see or feel as if something is off about it?" he asked, then mentally kicked himself for bringing the topic of hunting into their conversation.

"Oh, you must've heard from the locals that it's haunted, right?" Her eyes widened a bit in clear surprise that Dean would believe in ghosts. "If you wanna call having a bad electrical system and the sounds of the house settling being haunted, then I guess it is, but I don't believe in ghosts."

"So your lights flicker?" Dean lifted a brow in interest. He had been certain at the time that they had gotten rid of all the evil spirits in her home, but now he wasn't so sure anymore. "Do you ever feel unnatural cold spots anywhere in your home?" he asked, and cringed when she cast a quizzical glance in his direction.

"I feel breezes if that's what you mean." She took a sip of her beer and then set the glass down. "But I blame that on bad windows and not other earthly beings."

"Any weird scratching noises?"

"Are you asking if I have mice in my house, Dean?" She chuckled.

"Yeah," he laughed awkwardly, "sorry about that." There was no point in getting her upset if nothing strange was happening in her home. It was an old home after all, and everything he had asked her could happen in a turn-of-the century dwelling.

"Yeah, well, I probably do," she conceded with a troubled frown. "But the problem is, no one will come out an' give me a hand to fix anything because apparently a few years ago some kids were murdered there." She heaved a sigh as she grabbed for her drink again. After taking a long swallow, she added, "So, I've been basically doing everything I can on my my own."

"An' it doesn't bother you that kids died in your house?"

"Well, if they actually died there, it would definitely bother me." Marianna brushed her fingertips through her hair as her smiled waned. "But from everything I researched before actually buying the house, there's no proof that anyone ever died there."

From everything Dean and Sam had researched, she was right to a certain extent. Five teenagers had gone to the old abandon home to camp out for the night, but by morning they had all vanished without a trace. After an extensive search turned up nothing, the people of the town had the home boarded up, and for the most part everyone stayed away as the murmured whispers of evil spirits residing within the home grew. Now with Marianna living there, Dean couldn't help but worry if he and Sam had taken care of all the evil beings living in the dwelling.

"You play pool, Dean?" Marianna asked in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

"I'm pretty good at it," Dean admitted, although he really wasn't in the mood for a game.

"I'll bet ya twenty bucks I can beat you," She challenged with a saucy grin. Leaning forward in her seat, she rested her forearms on the table. "So what'd ya say?"

"Sure, I'll play a game or two." Dean didn't like the idea of hustling money from the older woman who had been so nice to him, but he really needed the money. He slid out of his seat and followed her to the pool tables. After racking up the balls, he tossed a twenty dollar bill down on the ledge of the table and gestured for her to go first.

Although, admittedly, she wasn't that bad at the game, and had a few really lucky shots, she was no match for Dean's skill. From years of experience, he missed just enough shots to make her believe she had a chance to win big if she kept playing.

"Nice shot," he commented when she sunk the eight ball, winning the second game, "Wanna play again?"

"Sure." she smiled as she pulled forty dollars out of her wallet and set it on the table. "My husband taught me how to play pool. Of course I never won, but he really enjoyed to play, an' so I learned to really love the game."

"My Dad played pool, too," Dean found himself saying without a given thought. "He taught me everything he knew." A small smile crept across his face as he recalled his father showing him how to line up a shot. His smile grew remembering the exhilaration he felt the first time he sunk a ball in the pocket. _That a boy, Dean, won't be too long before you're beatin' your old man at the game. _His father hefted him up in his arms, and wrapping his them firmly around him, he hugged him tightly. "My brother, Sammy, he never really liked the game much, so it was something jus' me an' my Did for fun."

"You're smilin'." She gestured toward his face before leaning over the table to take her shot. "It must've been a really nice memory," she added as she took her shot and missed.

"It was," Dean mumbled. He fell silent as he took his shot and easily sunk the striped ball in the corner pocket.

Dean won the third game they played, but allowed her to win the forth and fifth. As he mentally calculated the money sitting on the ledge of the table, and realized there was about three hundred dollars there, he knew it was time to go in for the kill. "Last game, double or nothing?" He felt a little bad for suggesting it at first, but from what information he had gleaned from her as they played, she had just come into a sizable inheritance and that was how she was able to afford the farm house where she now lived.

"Alright," she said with a slight shrug, "Are you sure you can afford it? I don't wanna take money from you if it's all you have."

"Yeah, I got it covered," Dean lied, knowing that every cent he had to his name was now sitting on the pool table. But as he didn't plan on losing, he wasn't worried. "You can go first."

Marianna leaned over the table, sized up her shot, and broke. "Damn," she cursed when not one ball went into a pocket. "Your turn." She stepped aside to allow Dean to take his shot.

Dean sunk three balls before he purposely missed, not wanting her to realize that he had just conned her into losing all her money.

Marianna crouched to eye the balls on the table, then pointed at the seven ball with her pool cue. "Seven ball off the cushion, corner pocket," she said right before sinking the shot. Moving around the table, she lined up her next shot. She stretched out the cue to gesture her next shot. "Four ball off the bumper, side pocket." With practiced ease, she sunk the shot. As she moved around to the front of the table, she called out her next shot. "Five ball off the cushion." She pointed toward the far end of the table, then pointed to the pocket beside her on the table. "Corner pocket." Again she made the shot with the slightest of ease.

She continued around the table calling off her shots, and making them all until there was only the eight ball left. "I don't like being conned, Dean," she uttered as she took the shot and sunk the ball, winning the game.

"You – you conned me," Dean uttered in stunned disbelief, stomach churning as he realized he didn't have enough money to pay the bet.

"Well, you planned on conning me, so I thought it was only fair." She held out her hand expectantly, and waved it in front of Dean. "You owe me six hundred dollars, so pay up."

"I don't have it," Dean muttered after a long pause, and splaying his arms out to the sides, he gestured toward the money on the table in a defeated manner. "Everything I have is on that table."

"Which you bet cause you didn't think you would lose," she knowingly replied. "Never bet more than you can afford to lose, cause there's always gonna be someone better at the game than you, Dean."

"Look, I'm really sorry." He scrubbed his hand through his scruffy beard as he thought of way he could get out of the bar without having to pay her. "I don't have the money," he finally said, hoping she would understand, but deep down knowing she wouldn't.

Marianna chewed at her lower lip as she studied Dean for a moment, and then gave a curt nod. "Alright, Dean," she took the money off the table and handed it back to Dean. "You need the money, an' I need someone to help me get my farm up and running. So you work for me until all the money's paid off, and we're even."

"I don't know anything about running a farm," Dean reluctantly admitted as he pocketed the money she gave him.

"That's okay, neither do I." She cast a winsome smile in his direction. "So, maybe we can learn together. Besides it seems to me as if you don't really have anywhere else to go at the moment, an' it gets kinda lonely livin' in that big old house by myself." She chuckled as she headed toward the door with Dean following closely behind her. "An' maybe while you're there, you can do something about all the field mice I've been hearing in the walls at night."

Hearing this, Dean wondered again if he and Sam had rid the house of every evil presence that dwelled within the walls and rafters. If they hadn't, it would be a perfect opportunity to make sure Marianna was safe inside her own home. "So for how long are we talkin' about here?"

Marianna paused in her steps and turned to look at Dean. "Well, there's the six hundred you lost," she tapped on her hand with one finger, "then there's the three hundred I just gave you back," she tapped a second finger on her hand, "Which is nine hundred dollars you owe me. If I include room and board as part of your pay, I'm thinkin' three weeks should pretty much cover it."

"Alright, three weeks sounds fair." He extended his hand, and she took hold of it, shaking it to seal their deal.

"I promise you, you're not gonna regret this decision, Dean," she called back over her shoulder as she headed out the door. "I think it's exactly what you need to bring back a smile to your face."


	47. Chapter 47

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_okay, i know some people probably think I was totally out of my right mind when i posted the last chapter...lol, and some probably actually wondered if I was writing a completely different story, but I swear it'll all make sense in the end...thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews! bambers:) _

_Chapter Forty-Seven_

Sam sat alone in Bobby's spare bedroom, listening to the EVP recorded message that Dean had given him the night he had left. Although he had replayed the recording at least a hundred times since his older brother had disappeared, he had never made it beyond hearing about Dean's unborn child dying because of Dominic.

"An' it didn't even bother you when you stabbed your own child to death?" Sam heard his brother say as he rewound the tape to listen to it again.

"Did she happen to tell you her little secret?" Dominic taunted, and Sam flinched at the sound of utter cruelty in his voice, knowing full well what the secret was and how it must have destroyed his brother when it was revealed. "I told her if she came home I would forgive her for betraying me, an' the little bitch told me she was carrying your child. An' she actually had the nerve to smile when she said it like she really believed you could save her from me."

"Sh-she was . . . ." Sam heard his brother's shaky voice hitch in his throat, and closing his eyes he mentally envisioned the look of utter devastation that must have been etched into his features."You killed my . . . my . . . you sonuvabitch. How could you do that?" Dean's last words were said with such complete heartbroken desolation, Sam was left with no doubt the madman had accomplished what he had set out to do. He had destroyed Dean. He had taken from him, the one thing that could have brought pure happiness and peace into Dean's life.

"Hmmm . . . I can see by your expression that she never got the chance to tell you the good news." Dominic continued to taunt in the same cruel and cunning fashion, each word cutting deeper and deeper into Sam's shattered heart. "Tell me, how does it feel to know that you when you burned her body, you burned your own child's body as well?"

Sam jabbed the button, turning off the recorder. _How could've I been so stupid? He needed me so damn much, an' I jus' pushed him away. _Scrubbing his hand through his shaggy hair, he pushed his bangs out of his eyes as he glanced around the sparsely furnished room that had been his home for the last few months. His gaze strayed to the crumpled note on the dresser that Dean had written to him before he had left. Although he'd memorized every word his brother had said in the letter, Sam still got to his feet and retrieved the piece of paper to read it over again.

_Sammy,_

_I know now that things will never be the same between us, and believe me, I don't blame you for it. This is all my fault. I should've protected you. It was the one job Dad gave me to do, and I messed it up royally. I'm so sorry, Sammy. But you have to believe that I never meant for you to get hurt. I just wish things could've been different. I wish I could take away everything you suffered because of me, but I can't. I know that now. I saw it in your eyes. We'll never be brothers again, and I don't know how to deal with that. I don't know how to live with that. So I'm gonna do the only thing I know how to do. I'm going after the rest of Dominic's men to make sure they never hurt you again. _

_Take care little brother,_

_Dean_

Tears slipped silently down Sam's cheeks unchecked as he wondered where Dean was at he moment. He thought his brother would have come back by now or at the very least called to say he was all right. But even if he had, Sam had no idea how to face him. He had driven his older brother away. Had believed Dean capable of doing the things that Dominic had done to him. And his heart ached with the knowledge that he had hated him for it. There was no way Sam could even begin to apologize to his brother for everything.

He had tried to call Dean several times, but had never made it beyond taking the phone out of his pocket before realizing that if his brother had wanted to talk to him, he would have called. Dean just wasn't the type of person who cut himself off completely from the people he cared about. He was the kind of person who fought desperately to keep those he loved close to him. If he wasn't calling, it meant that he no longer counted Sam amongst the lucky few who he cherished, and Sam could hardly blame him for it.

_He's done so damn much for me, an' this is how I repay him for it? He lost everything . . . he lost his baby, an' any chance for true happiness . . . an' what the hell did I do? I blamed him for it . . . blamed him for everything. How the hell am I supposed to make that right? How can I even begin to make up for everything he's lost? Hell, I can't even face him. He has to hate me . . . he just has to . . . . _

So deep in his trouble thoughts, he hadn't noticed his father and Bobby walk into the room, until his dad lightly tapped him on the shoulder. Startled, he jerked away from his dad's touch, and moved to put some distance between himself and them.

"Sammy, we need to talk," his father began in an unsteady voice. "It's about your brother."

Sam gave a subtle nod of acknowledgment as he slowly backed away from both men. For a brief moment his heart soared, thinking that Dean had called to say he was coming home, but just as quickly it plummeted to the pit of his stomach as he took in the looks on both mens' faces. As he looked from one man to the other, he saw a look of mirrored hopelessness in their glistening eyes. Grim lines etched both their foreheads and the corners of their eyes, leaving little doubt in Sam's mind that they were here to tell him bad news. Sam backed further away, and butting up against the wall, his legs gave out on him and he slid bonelessly to the floor.

"I've been trying to get in touch with him for the past two months." John paused for a moment to wipe the moisture from his eyes, and then drawing in a deep breath, he continued, "I've even gone so far as to beg him to call back, an' he's just not answering, Sammy. It's just not like Dean not to keep in contact." He hesitated again to take another shaky breath. "If he were alive, he would've called back by now."

John fell silent and Bobby took up where he left off. "I know I never told ya this, but when Dean left that night, there was a look in his eyes . . . he'd given up an' didn't plan on coming back alive, Sam . . . ."

As Bobby's voice trailed off, John continued onward, "We don't know if Dominic's men got a hold of him or if something else dragged him down, but we're pretty sure he's --- "

"No!" Sam abruptly shouted, cutting his father off, not wanting to hear him say that Dean was dead. "I would know if he was . . . I would know it."

"Sam, you have to understand he wasn't exactly in his right mind when he left here," Bobby tried to reason, but Sam was beyond listening to either of them anymore.

Dean had to still be alive, and if he was, Sam knew he would be the one to find him. Instantly, he drew back into himself, shutting them both out as he reached out and searched for his brother with his mind. Sam wasn't exactly sure what he was doing, but instinctively understand he had the power within himself to locate Dean. But no matter how hard he tried, his mind stayed firmly locked on past hunts they had been on together. Yet, it wasn't as if they were his thoughts but Dean's. Everything he envisioned came from Dean's perspective.

Sam trembled as he felt Dean's stark fear wash over him. Terrifying fear gripped hold of Sam's heart and choked off his breath, but he refused to look away. If Dean was alive and perhaps lying injured somewhere, he was reliving these memories in stark detail, and Sam was almost certain these visions would provide a clue as to where he was now. The problem was that images were speeding up as Dean's abject fear grew, and he couldn't see anything clearly enough to determine what he was looking at.

"Sam . . . Sammy." John roughly shook Sam, and a small cry escaped the youngest Winchester as he was cruelly ripped from his vision. "You okay?" He knelt and protectively wrapped his arm around Sam's shoulder.

All Sam could do was stare at his father in incredulous disbelief. He had been so close to finding something that would lead him to his brother, but it had been torn away from him within a blink of an eye. Without a word, he pushed away from his father, and slowly made his way to his feet. "Get the hell out of my room," he gritted out through clenched teeth as he nudged his head toward the door.

"Sam," Bobby broke in on their conversation, but before he could get out what he was trying to say, Sam abruptly cut him off.

"I was talkin' to you, too, Bobby."

"Sammy, I know you're hurting, but so are we." John took a step toward Sam, and Sam backed away, not wanting his father to try and comfort him. "An' I'm pretty sure Dean wouldn't want you to blame yourself for this."

Hearing this, Sam's anger exploded. His body trembled as horrific memories of what Dominic had done to him crashed down upon him. All the fear and degradation he had endured at the hands of the madman, had sliced through his heart and soul, leaving him only a mere shadow of the man he had been before. And in his mind, there was only one person he could blame for everything he and Dean had suffered. On shaky legs he took several steps forward and came to stand face to face with his father.

"No, what you're really hoping is that Dean doesn't blame you for everything that happened," Sam snarled as he forcefully pushed his father backward. "Where the hell were you, Dad? I had to have called you no less than thirty times, beggin' you to come an' help me find him, but you never even answered in all that time. You selfish sonuvabitch!"

"I came as soon as I could. If I had only known," John tried to defend himself, but Sam wasn't even listening.

"As soon as you could? That's a laugh," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Do you know it only took one phone call," He held up a single finger, "Only one, an' Bobby was right there when we needed him. He's been more of a father to us than you'll ever be, even on your best damn day."

"Sam, you're father---" Bobby tried to jump in and defuse the argument before it got out of hand, but Sam cut him off.

"Don't defend him, Bobby, you know it's the damn truth." Sam swung to glare at the older hunter. "To him the only thing we were ever good for was hunting . . . that's it, nothing more. But you know what? We're better off without him . . . he's never been around anyway."

"I've done the best I could," John argued, "It's not like it was easy raising you two boys on my own."

"Huh, raising us? You gotta be kidding me." Sam stalked to his father, fisted a handful of his flannel shirt, and yanked his Dad toward him so their faces were mere inches apart. "Raising us would actually mean you'd have to be around at least some of the time. But you were never there. Dean raised me, not you, it was never you," he uttered with a shake of his head.

"Sam, I know you're hurtin' something fierce, an' I know I'm to blame." John gripped hold of Sam's hand and pried it away from his shirt. "So if it makes you feel better to hate me then go right ahead, but it still doesn't change the fact that we're the only family we've got left."

"If Dean's dead, I have no family left." With hands clenched into fists, Sam turned on his heel and stalked out of the room before he lost the last bit of his waning control, and ended up slugging his father in the face.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Sam slipped quietly out of the house, and headed toward the garage. The full moon lit the way through the maze of twisted wreckage, making the need for a flashlight unnecessary. Somewhere off to the right, he heard Rumsfeld pacing restlessly back and forth on his chain. At first Rumsfeld was content just to whimper as Sam lifted the garage door, but as he went inside to steal the Chevy Nova Bobby had just finished working on earlier in the day, the old dog began to howl and bark.

"Damn it, Rumsfeld, be quiet before you wake everyone up," Sam hissed as he eased open the car door and threw his duffel bag onto the passenger's seat. As he slid behind the wheel, he noticed the keys were still in the ignition and breathed a sigh of relief. Starting the engine, he revved it a few times before he backed out of the garage, and quickly turning the car around he raced out of the driveway. "I'm gonna find you, Dean. An' I'll make things right again, I swear I will."

XxXxXxXxXxX

From beside the front window, both John and Bobby silently watched as Sam drove away. When they could no longer see the taillights of the 69' Chevy Nova, they dropped the curtains back in place and went to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee.

"Think he's gonna be alright?" Bobby asked concernedly as he grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured John a cup of coffee.

"Yeah, he's gonna be fine." A small smile lit across John's features as he gratefully accepted the mug Bobby offered him. "He just needed a little shove in the right direction."

"I still don't feel right about lyin' to the boy," Bobby grumbled as he took a sip of the steaming hot liquid and then set his mug on the table. "Makin' him believe we actually think Dean is dead. It's jus' not right."

"He wasn't getting any better, Bobby," John argued, brows knitting together in a scowl as he glared at his longtime friend. "He was drownin' in his own guilt, an' if we didn't do something soon I'm not so sure he would've made it."

"Still doesn't make it right." Bobby took a seat, and motioned for John to do the same. "So you think he'll be able to find Dean?"

Without even having to give it a moment's thought, John nodded. "If anyone can find Dean, it'll be Sammy. They jus' always seem to know how each other thinks." A worried frown creased John's forehead as he thought of his eldest son. If Dean wasn't trying to contact Sam, he had to be in real bad shape. From past experience John knew how reckless Dean could be if he wasn't focusing all his energy on keeping his little brother safe. Without Sam, John knew Dean would sink fast, he had witnessed it before when Sam had left for college. And if his eldest child believed that Sam no longer cared if he lived or died, it would literally kill him. "We better get a move on, we don't want Sam to get too far ahead of us."


	48. Chapter 48

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_So another new chappy...hopefully everyone will enjoy...thanks for sticking with the story so far, and thanks for all the really great reviews, they really keep me going on this extremely long story!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Forty-Eight_

Marianna flipped on the light switch as she walked inside her home, and the lights overhead instantly began to flicker and dim. "Hope you know something about fixing electrical problems, Dean," she said, tossing her purse on the small table in the open entryway before heading into the expansive living room.

Dean stood in the doorway, and cautiously glanced around until his steely gaze fell to the missing banister on the staircase and then traveled down to the large hole in the floorboards near the stairs. His heart skipped a beat and then sped up considerably as he recalled the night he and Sam had been here.

"_You take the upstairs, Sammy, an' I'll look around down here," Dean said, raising his gun and moving off to the right toward the living room area. _

"_Alright, Dean, but be careful an' remember there's more than one of them," Sam warned as he headed up the stairs._

_Dean searched the whole lower level of the two-story home, but had turned up nothing and was just about to head into the basement below when he heard his brother cry out his name. With his heart hammering away inside his chest, he raced back toward the staircase. _

"_Sammy!" Dean hollered as an unnatural icy cold blast of air slammed into him, nearly knocking him off his feet. "Sammy, where the hell are you?" Steadying himself on his feet, Dean rushed to the stairs._

"_D-Dean," came another strangled cry from directly above him. _

_His head dropped back onto his shoulders and he glanced up just in time to see his little brother free fall from the vaulted ceiling overlooking the stairs. Sam slammed hard into banister knocking it the floor as he continued to tumble down the stairs. Dean scrambled up the stairs to help his brother, but just as he reached out to stop him from falling any further, Sam's body was lifted high out his grasp and thrown forward into the opposing wall of the stairwell. Once again he fell, and landed with such force on the floor it cracked and splintered. With another heart-stopping crack, Sam fell through the floor and landed in a heap in the basement. _

"_Sammy!"_

"Dean?" came Marianna's voice, breaking the trance Dean had fallen under. "Yeah, I know there's a hole in the floor," she commented unconcernedly. "I'm hoping that you'll be able to fix that while you're here."

"Why'd you buy this house, Marianna?" Dean uttered in a breathless whisper as he turned to look at her. "You have to know there's something not right about it."

"Well, I think some houses hold a history within their walls. An' sure, some of its gonna be bad, maybe even real bad. But I also feel as if there's a story of strength an' determination hidden beneath these rafters, an' that's why I'm here." She turned on her heel and headed toward the kitchen. "I was just thinkin' of making myself a hamburger before I turn in for the night, you want one?"

At the thought of food, Dean stomach rumbled. "Only if it's not gonna be a problem," he uttered as he followed her, knowing that she was probably just cooking for his benefit.

"Not a problem in the least."

As Dean entered the kitchen he was surprised to see that unlike the rest of the home, this room had been completely refinished. The honey-oak hardwood floors gleamed from beneath his feet. The cabinets had been sanded, fitted with new hardware and were now painted hunter green. New black marbled counter tops had been installed. In the center of the room stood an island with copper pots and pans hanging above it on a wrought iron rack. Floral curtains hung from the only windows in the house that weren't still boarded up.

"You did all this by yourself?"

"I like to think that I'm not totally helpless, Dean." Marianna chuckled. Opening the freezer, she rummaged around inside for hamburger meat, but after a moment turned back to look at Dean. "I'm out of hamburger. I do have bacon though so if you'd like, I can make you a BLT?"

"That sounds great." Dean's stomach rumbled even louder. "Mind if I take a look around while you're cooking?" he asked, thinking of the EMF reader he had stashed in his duffel. The last time he was here the EMF readings were quite high, but after he salted and burned the bones he'd found buried in the backyard, the lighted reader registered nothing abnormal.

"Yeah, just be careful on the stairs, some of them are weak, an' as you saw there's no railing."

"Yeah, I saw that," Dean murmured, tears shimmering in his eyes. Turning an about face, he trudged out of the room before he broke down.

Dean grabbed his EMF reader out of his duffel and switched it on. Immediately it lit up, the lights flashing for a moment before they all stayed lit. "Sonuvabitch," he cursed under his breath. He moved around the open entryway and then headed into the living room, but no matter where he stood, the reader stayed lit. Faulty electrical might have caused a sudden surge and spike on the reader in some areas in the old house, but the readings Dean was now getting were off the chart. Whatever was in this home now was bigger and potentially more dangerous than anything he'd ever come across while hunting vengeful spirits.

Yet, for all his readings throughout both rooms he had been in so far, he felt strangely calm. He headed for the stairway, and made his way up the creaky, sagging steps. Images of Sam falling from the ceiling above once again flashed through his mind causing him to cringe.

The lights on his EMF reader suddenly grew more intense, and then abruptly popped loudly, each one shattering in turn before the reader went dead. With another loud crack, the glass above the indicator needle shattered. "Okay, this is so not good."

"What are you doin', Dean?" Marianna's voice came from directly behind him, and he jumped, startled that he hadn't even heard her come up the stairs behind him. "You're sandwich is ready." She hitched her thumb back over her shoulder. "I also have a pot of coffee brewing if you want some."

"Thanks, I could really use a cup of coffee."

"I thought you might," she said as she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You know everything's gonna be alright, don't you, Dean?"

"What do you mean?" He quirked a puzzled brow, wondering if she was referring to his problems with Sam or with whatever was lurking within the walls of the old home.

"I take it you believe in ghosts." Marianna gestured to the broken EMF reader, and when his expression grew even more perplexed, she went on to add, "What can I say, I watch Ghost Hunters on television."

"You watch Ghost Hunters? I thought you said you didn't believe in ghosts?"

"I actually watch it because of Grant, something about him just really does it for me." She blushed sweetly. "He kind of reminds me of my husband. Always out there searching for the truth, and even if I don't actually think ghosts are real, I kinda like the thought of him putting himself in harms way to make sure other people can feel safe."

"You're husband sounds like a really great guy." Dean smiled, thinking of how his own father had always put the safety of others first before caring about his own well-being.

"He really was." A dreamy expression filled her bluish-gray eyes as she thought of her husband. "He was a military man, an' even earned several medals of distinction. He was always so proud of that." Her smile faltered briefly as she looked to Dean.

"My Dad was a Marine," Dean said, knowing instinctively that she would understand how proud he was of his father for serving their country.

"I bet he was a great man." With a smile, Marianna turned and headed back down the stairs, calling back over her shoulders, "There's nothing in this house that's going to hurt you, Dean. So put that thing away then come an' eat."

Dean glanced at the EMF reader in his hand, and shook his head. Whether Marianna chose to believe there was another presence in her house, he knew better. He'd been hunting vengeful spirits practically his whole life, and never once had he come across one powerful enough to completely destroy his reader. Once he reached the first floor landing, he turned his head and glanced back up the stairwell, feeling as if something was watching him. Although it didn't necessarily feel threatening, the feeling persisted as he set the EMF reader back in his duffel and headed into the kitchen.

"So, you said you have two sons," Dean said as he took a seat at the table. "Where are they now?"

"They took after their father." Marianna smiled as she set a plate and cup in front of him. "There off fighting in the war." She poured him some coffee and then filled her own cup before taking a seat beside him. "They get stationed all over the place, so it's really hard to keep track of where they are at any given moment."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," he muttered, thinking of his father, and a sad frown creased his brow. Until his dad had come to rescue both him and his brother, Dean hadn't seen or heard from him in months.

"Sometimes I wonder if they know how much I miss them," Marianna said wistfully, her eyes taking on a faraway look. "An' then out of the blue I'll hear from one of them. An' sometimes they sound so sad and broken . . . an' I just wanna reach out to them an' tell them everything's gonna be okay." She hesitated, tears filling her eyes as she cast a sad smile in Dean's direction. "They've seen things boys their ages should never have to see . . . an' they've fought so damn hard . . . so damn hard. An' sometimes I just don't think people really appreciate the unsung heroes in the world."

Dean had always been so busy fighting against every kind of creature imaginable, he rarely had time to consider those who had fought and died for their country. And in truth, he and they were very much alike. Just like him, they had fought for what they believed in, and were willing to lay down their lives if it meant others were safe.

"I'm sorry."

"Aww . . . there's no reason to be sorry, Dean." Marianna placed a hand on his forearm, and gently squeezed it. "I'm proud of my boys." Her smile faded as she hitched her thumb over his shoulder. "Think I'm gonna go to bed, it's been a long day an' I'm kinda tired."

"Alright." He eyed his uneaten BLT and then glanced back at her. "Thanks for the sandwich."

"Not a problem," she said as she rose to stand. "I'm afraid you'll have to sleep on the couch tonight, but tomorrow I'll fix you up a room."

"That'll be fine," Dean replied although he had no intention of going to bed until he figured out what sort of presence was in the old farmhouse.

XxXxXxXxXxX

"Maybe we should just leave them alone, Markus," Lucas said as he glanced out the front windshield of Markus' car at the rundown farmhouse. As he did, he recalled how nice Dean had been to him, taking the time to show him how to shoot a gun when no one else ever had bothered. "Father's dead an' nothin' we do is gonna bring him back."

"He's dead because of them," came Markus' gruff reply without taking his sights off the home where Dean had went into earlier in the night. "Our family is almost all gone because of him and his brother, an' it's up to us to see that they both pay for what they've done."

"Then why don't we jus' get over with?" Lucas inwardly groaned, not liking the idea of taking another man's life, but if he didn't help Markus and his other brothers he knew without a doubt that they would kill him. "Why do we have to wait for his brother to come lookin' for him?"

"Because Father would want them to watch each other die."

Markus' grip tightened around the steering wheel, and Lucas understood this had nothing to do with their Father's wishes. The larger man wanted Dean to suffer because their Father had favored him instead of Markus. He had given Raine to Dean as his wife when Markus had wanted her to be his own. He wanted to kill Dean to prove once and for all that he was better than him. It was as simple as that.

"What if his brother doesn't come looking for him? Then what?"

"Oh, he'll come looking for him, just like he did before." Markus smirked as his hand slid off the steering wheel, and lovingly trailed his fingertips over the branding iron lying on the seat next to him. "An' when he does, we'll have to properly welcome him into the family before we kill him."

"What about the woman he went inside the house with?" Lucas' stomach churned at the thought of hurting an innocent person, but he was too afraid of Markus to voice his objections. "We're not gonna kill her, too, are we?"

"She's housing the enemy, so that makes her an enemy." Markus shifted in his seat to look at Lucas, and a mirthless laugh issued from his thin, pale lips. "So tell me, Lucas, what do you think we're gonna do to her?"

Lucas swallowed hard, feeling the bile rise in his throat. "We're gonna kill her," he uttered in a mere whisper.

"That's right," he laughed all the harder, then gave Lucas a wink, "an' here Father always thought you were the stupid one."


	49. Chapter 49

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_So another new chappy...sorry for the delay, but what with my new job and other family things, I am way behind...thanks for sticking with the story... bambers;)_

_Chapter Forty-Nine_

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With shotgun at the ready and flashlight in hand, Dean cautiously made his way down into the basement. His stomach twisted and churned as he stepped onto the landing and made his way toward the spot where he had found his brother laying bloodied and broken on the floor the last time he was here. A chilled breeze ghosted past him, raising the hairs on the nape of his neck and forearms.

Dean crouched beside the spot where his brother had landed when he fell, and lightly trailed his fingers over the rust-colored blood stains he found there. His body trembled as he recalled how deathly still his brother was, and he remembered how he momentarily had thought Sam had died.

_Come on, Sammy, wake up for me," Dean uttered, his heart in his throat as he searched for a pulse with the fingers, and at first couldn't find one. "No. No. No. No. No. come on little brother, don't you do this to me."_

_Dean's head fell back onto his shoulders as he glanced up at the hole his brother had fallen through. Fear gripped hold of him and held on firmly as he momentarily relived the horror of seeing his brother thrown into the wall far above and then slipped to fall to the bottom of the stairs where he had fallen through the floorboards. _

"_D-Dea --" came Sam's weak and shaky voice, pulling Dean back to the present and the situation at hand. "H-Hurs . . . D-Dea--"_

"_It's gonna be okay, Sammy, I gotcha." He cradled Sam against his chest. "I'm gonna get you outta here."_

_Sam's heavy eyelids fluttered closed as his head lolled to the side._

"_Come on, little brother, stay awake for me," Dean ordered as he gently nudged his brother to try and rouse him, but his brother remained deathly still and quiet. "Don't you dare die on me, Sammy!"_

A sudden loud popping, sizzling noise instantly drew Dean from his painful memories, and he turned his head just in time to see sparks of light showering from the electric box in the corner of the room. With another smaller hissing pop, the light bulb inside his flashlight burst casting him into complete darkness.

"Dean!" Marianna called out from somewhere overhead, and with his heart in his throat, he immediately leapt to his feet.

Taking the steps two at a time, he flew up the stairs. Darting through the living room, he raced up the staircase to the second floor. He stopped dead in his tracks, and listened for a moment before calling out, "Marianna, where are you?"

"Right here, Dean," she replied from somewhere directly behind him.

Within a moment, she flipped on a flashlight, and he swung to notice that she was pressing the palm of her hand firmly against her forehead with blood seeping from beneath it. "Damn it," he cursed as he immediately hurried to her side. "Are you okay?" he asked concernedly as he quickly accessed her for any other injuries.

"I'm fine, Dean," she assured with a smile that all to quickly turned to a grimace. "Just hit my head on the medicine cabinet in the bathroom when the lights went out."

"So . . . so nothing came after you?" Dean asked, more than a little confused. Every ingrained instinct, told him there was something inside this house. He had felt a presence along with unearthly cold breezes, and had witnessed the electrical box explode. His EMF reader registered off the chart readings before all the lights on it had burst. The bulb inside his flashlight had shattered. All of these things were clear signs to Dean that something evil rested within the walls of the house, but as of yet, the creature had failed to try and hurt either himself or Marianna.

"No, like I said, I hit my head on the cabinet."

Dean scrubbed his hand through his beard as he glanced around the long hallway searching for any sign of a spirit, but when he saw or heard nothing, he refocused his attention on Marianna. "You're sure you're okay?"

"It's just a little cut on my head, Dean. I'm fine," she once again reassured.

"Lemme take a look at it for you," he said, taking on the tone he usually reserved only for Sam when his little brother was injured. Gently prying her hand away from her head, he noticed a deep gash just below her hairline. It was bleeding quite a bit, but that was not uncommon with head injuries. "Looks like you might need a few stitches. You want me to take you to the hospital?"

"Naw . . . I don't like hospitals, something about all those sick people around and the scent of antiseptic cleaner . . . it's just . . . I dunno, I just don't like it, never have."

Dean nodded, knowing exactly what she meant as he felt the same way. "Alright, do you have a first aid kit? I can bandage it up for ya."

"Yeah, it's in the bathroom." Marianna turned on her heel and with Dean following behind her, she headed back in the direction she had just come from.

After handing Dean the first aid kit and lighting several candles, Marianna took a seat at her vanity table. Dean knelt beside her and gently began cleansing her cut.

"Looks like you know your way around a first aid kit," Marianna commented as she watched Dean intently. "Are you a doctor by any chance?"

"Naw." Dean chuckled as he dabbed away the blood snaking a path down the side of her face. "I took care of my little brother a lot when he was younger." The smile slid from his features as he thought of the last time he had seen his little brother. There had been such a utter look of mistrust in Sam's hazel eyes that any small hope Dean clung to that they might find their way back to being brothers was shattered and lost.

"I'm sorry for your lose," Marianna said sympathetically, lightly brushing the back of her hand against his cheek. "It must've been really hard losing someone you're so obviously close to."

"He's not . . . ." Tears welled in Dean's eyes as his voice trailed off. His breath caught in his throat as he glanced up into her eyes and saw such sadness in them it momentarily caught him of guard. For some unexplainable reason, the moment he looked into them it instantly reminded him of how Sam had looked after Jessica had died. "He's still alive. We're just not . . . I-I did something that he'll never forgive me for . . . ." His voice once again lapsed and died away. A frown etched his brow as he wondered why he was sharing something so personal with a complete stranger.

"An' you don't think you deserve to be forgiven?" She quirked a brow in question, then grimaced as she lightly pressed her fingertips against the butterfly bandages Dean had just finished taping over her cut.

Dean sadly shook his head, and then lowered it so she wouldn't see how badly he was hurting inside. "He got badly hurt, an' it was all my fault. So no . . . I don't deserve to be forgiven."

Marianna lightly cupped hold of his chin, and raised his head so he was looking her directly in the eyes. "He will forgive you, Dean. He's your brother an' no matter what happened between the two of you, deep down he still loves you."

"No, he doesn't. I saw it in his eyes." Dean tilted his head to the side, breaking her hold on him, then he slowly rose to his feet, and headed for the door, but at the sound of her calm voice he stopped dead in his tracks.

"In any relationship there can be horrible scars, Dean. Things we say an' do to each other that we later regret an' think there is no possible way we can be forgiven for them. But I like to think in those times, there are angels watching over us, guiding us in the right direction."

"My mother used to say angels watched over me." Dean lowered his head in a defeated manner, and uttered in a breathless whisper, "She lied. There's nothing out there watching over me."

"Sometimes it might feel that way." Oddly, as she spoke the sound of her voice changed and took on a strangely familiar tone. "But then at other times, all you have to do is just turn around an' you'll see one standing right behind you."

Dean hesitated a moment before he slowly turned to look at her, and his heart lodged firmly in his throat. "Mom?"


	50. Chapter 50

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_So another new chappy...thanks for sticking with the story and for all the awesome reviews... bambers;)_

_Chapter Fifty_

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Sam drove throughout the night and early on into the next morning before he finally stopped to fill up his gas tank. He had thought to go inside to get something to eat, but as he neared the front door of convenient store, a wave of panic overwhelmed him. As he glanced inside the window and saw a bald-headed man behind the register, he began to tremble uncontrollably.

_He's just a regular guy. He's not one of Dominic's men. _He repeated the mantra over and over again inside his head as he reached out to open the door, and then hesitated. _But what if he is? What if he's just like those guys from the elevator?_

Cold sweat prickled at the nape of his neck as his stomach began to churn. He wavered for a few more moments before he abruptly turned in his heel and hurried back to the safety of his car. Once inside, a drew in several quick, gasping breaths as he tried to calm his jittering nerves. Every breath he took seem to drain him of his strength. His lungs felt heavy inside his chest, his heart clenching painfully as his fears overtook him.

"Damn it!" He slammed his hand down hard against the steering wheel as tears welled in his eyes. "I'm a goddamn hunter for Christ's sake. I shouldn't be afraid to walk into a freakin' convenient store."

_Dean, where the hell are you? I really need you here with me . . . don't know if I can do this on my own._

Sudden intense pain exploded behind his eyes, and squeezing them close, he cried out as the feeling grew. Pressing his fingertips into his temples, he rubbed them trying to ease away the ache, but it only intensified as distorted images flashed behind his closed eyelids.

"_Sam . . . Sammy! Damn it answer me!" _Dean screamed out to him, but the image wasn't clear enough to make out where he was. Sam could feel his brother's heartbeat quicken, slamming hard against his chest as he waited for Sam to respond.

Another cry burst from Sam's lips as Dean's fear grew. The distorted image of what looked like an old basement flashed through Sam's mind, but it wasn't clear enough to make out any details that might be helpful in finding Dean.

"Damn it, Dean, focus an' give me somethin' to work with here."

"_Come on, little brother, wake up for me." _

Sam heard his brother beg, and Sam's head fell back onto his shoulders as he felt Dean do the same. Prying his eyes open, Sam saw the darkened image of splintered floorboards above his head and then looked down to see himself lying in his brother's arms.

"I fell through the floor," Sam uttered in a breathless rush. "I almost died . . . my heart stopped twice in the hospital." The image slowly ebbed and faded away. Sam smiled."I know where you are, Dean."

Cursing under his breath, Sam started the engine, turned around and headed back in the direction in which he had come. When he had left Bobby's house, he headed toward California, but now he knew his older brother was in New York. Even if he drove non-stop, it would still take him several days to get there.

"Sonuvabitch." Sam slammed his hand against the steering wheel again. "What if he's hurt . . . what if he's dyin' an' I don't get there in time?" He pressed the gas pedal to the floor and sped up, weaving in and out of traffic as he headed East.

XxXxXxXxXxX

John had just finished loading their gear in his truck when Rumsfeld began to bark wildly. Immediately sensing that something was wrong, he grabbed his gun and cautiously made his way back toward the house. From the doorway he called out to his longtime friend. "Bobby?" When several moments past without the older hunter responding, he tried again. "Damn it, Bobby, answer me."

Within a heartbeat, all the lights inside and outside the house went out, casting the entire house into complete darkness. From outside he heard Bobby's dog yelp as if in pain and then there was total silence.

"Sonuvabitch," he swore under his breath as he raised his gun and slowly entered the house. Whoever had Bobby was definitely human or they wouldn't have made it beyond the traps the older hunter had set in place to stop demons or evil spirits. And from the look of things, there had to be more than one person inside his friend's home.

John eased his way into the living room, careful not to knock over any of the stacks of books Bobby always had lying around and give his position away. From the moonlight streaming through the windows, he was able to see clearly enough to maneuver through his friend's home with little difficulty. Within a matter of moments he had traveled through the living room, and had headed into the kitchen, but still couldn't find Bobby anywhere. Turning on his heel, he traveled back through the living room and down the hallway toward the bedrooms. A glimmer of light coming from beneath Bobby's bedroom door caught John's attention, and he slowly eased the door open. Unearthly light bathed the room in a warm golden glow making it easy for John to spot Bobby laying sprawled on the floor beside the bed. He rushed to Bobby's side, dropped to the ground, and placed two fingers at the side of his friend's throat to check if he was still alive, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief when he detected a strong pulse. Quickly checking the older man for any apparent injuries, John furrowed a brow in confusion when he couldn't find any.

"What the hell?"

"John," came a breathless whisper from directly behind him, and his heart clenched painfully as he recognized the feminine voice he hadn't heard in twenty-two years.

"Mary?" John turned abruptly, and his jaw dropped open as he stared into his wife's beautiful grayish-blue eyes. A soft golden glow surrounded Mary, and as she trailed her fingertips down his cheek he was instantly filled with a warmth that he hadn't felt since she had died. "How is this. . . are you real? I mean, really real?"

"You an' the boys are in so much pain, John, that I just had to be with you." Mary took a hold of his trembling hand, and placed it against her chest, and he swallowed hard against the tight knot that had formed in his throat as tears filled his eyes.

"An' Bobby?" John questioned as he eyed his friend laying on the ground unconscious. "What happened to him?"

"He'll be fine," Mary promised. "But only you, Sam and Dean are allowed to see me. It was one of the conditions I agreed to when they allowed me to come."

Feeling as if his shaky legs would give out on him at any given moment, John dropped down onto the bed, and pulled Mary into his arms. "Why now? Why after all this time . . . I've needed you so damn much . . . an' I prayed every damn day that I would see you again."

"I know you have, an' I've watched you try so hard to be a good father." Mary shifted in John's lap to look him in the eyes. "But now both our boys are broken and suffering, and I need to be here for them."

"I did the best I could," John lowered his head, not able to meet her steady gaze as he knew he had failed both their sons. "But I was so wrapped up in going after that damn demon, I just . . . Sam, he called me so many damn times, an' I – "

Mary gently placed a hand over his mouth to stop him from speaking. "I'm not blaming you, John. I can see how much you're hurting inside, an' I know you would do anything to protect our boys."

"An' Dean . . . I can see it in his eyes," John went on to say before he lost his courage, "he hates me, Mary, an' I don't know how to deal with that." Scrubbing a hand across his face, he wiped away the tears slipping down his cheeks. "An' he's the one person I've always counted on . . . the one person who I knew in my heart would always be there for me no matter what."

"He still loves you, John," Mary assured as she placed her hand under his chin and lifted his head so they were once again looking each other in the eyes. "He just needs a little time to figure that out for himself."

"But what if he doesn't?" A wry smile briefly flitted across his features as he thought of how much Dean was like Mary. She had never been able to stay mad at him for any real length of time, and neither had Dean until he had been abducted by Dominic. "What if this is the one time he just can't find it in himself to forgive me for not being there when he needed me?"

"I think you need to have a little more faith in him. He's just hurting really bad right now."

"How am I supposed to reach him an' Sam when they both want nothing to do with me?"

"That's why I'm here, John." Mary smiled as she clasped a hold of his hand. "I came back to take care of my boys, an' I need you to just let 'em go for now."

"What are you talkin' about?" A puzzled frown furrowed John's brow as he looked once again to Bobby, and then refocused his attention on her. "Dominic's men are still out there, and I'm pretty damn sure they haven't given up on getting revenge against Dean and Sam. So I can't just leave them unprotected."

"I'm not about to let anyone hurt my boys again," Mary uttered in a strong commanding voice, her eyes alighting with fierce determination. "Please, John, all I'm asking for is just a little time and a chance to help them. You've always been there for them, but this time I need to be the one who picks them up after they've fallen."

"So you want me to let them go?"

"Just for a little while." Mary caressed his cheek and then leaned in to kiss him lightly on the lips. "An' I swear to you, no one will hurt them while I'm around."

"Alright, Mary," John conceded with a nod. "You always knew I could never deny you anything."

Mary leaned in and whispered, "I've always love you, John, an' nothing will ever change that." John closed his eyes as she lightly brushed her lips against his, and when he opened them again she was gone.


	51. Chapter 51

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Thanks for reading and sticking with the story. I am truly grateful for all the awesome reviews and for the continued support!! Bambers;)

Chapter Fifty-One

"Hey, Dean." Tears shimmered in her eyes as her smile widened, and she held her arms out to him. "God, I've missed you so much."

Dean waited all of a second before he pulled her into a bone-crushing embrace. "Is it really you?" He wrapped his arms more firmly around her as he rested his head on her shoulder. "I mean is it really you?"

"Yeah, baby, it's me." Mary drew back slightly to look him in the eyes. And although she didn't look like the mother he remembered as a child, there was now no mistaking that she was his mom. What he had really failed to notice before was her eyes. In their beautiful bluish-gray depths he saw her clearly, and didn't need any more confirmation than that to prove it was her. He had needed her so desperately and she fought her way back to be with him."You were just hurtin' so badly inside, I needed to be with you."

"How – how is it possible?" He drew her back into his arms as tears fell freely down his cheeks. Once again he pulled away from her, wanting to memorize every detail and line etched into her features. "This isn't possible."

"I told you angels would watch over you. I just wanted to be one of them." With a feathery-soft touch against his cheek, she took hold of his hand and led him out of the bathroom and down the stairs. Once they were both seated on the couch, Mary wrapped her arm around him. "I'm so proud of you, Dean," she said, and he leaned in to rest his head against her shoulder as he had always done when he was little. "You've grown up to be so strong an' brave. You've always protected your little brother, an' did your best to make sure he was always safe." She hesitated as she hugged him even tighter and lightly kissed him on the side of his forehead. "None of this was your fault, an' you need to forgive yourself."

For as much as Dean wanted to believe her, he knew that Sam had been brutally tortured because of him. Bobby had been abducted and beaten severely because of him. Shannon and Raine had died because of him. And no matter how much he desperately wished that things were different, the bonds he had shared with his family were irrevocably shattered because he had chosen to keep Shannon's murder a secret. "I – I can't."

"Why, Dean?" Mary shifted in her seat, placed two fingers under his chin, and then gently lifted his head so they were looking each other in the eyes. "Honey, why can't you see that you were a victim in this? That monster did horrible things to you an' your brother. He did it. Not you. So place the blame where it rightfully belongs."

"You don't understand," Dean said with a curt shake of his head. "Dominic killed Shannon, and I covered up her murder as if it meant nothing. If I had just gone to the police when I found her body, none of this would've ever happened."

"You really believe that?" She narrowed her eyes on Dean, and his gut clenched at the pain he saw within their depths. "You didn't kill her, Dean. No good would've come from you calling the police. You could've ended up in prison, and a helluva lot of people would've died without you around to protect them."

"How can you say that?" Dean pushed away from her and bolted to his feet. "How can you possibly even begin to understand?" he snapped, slamming his booted foot into the coffee table in anger and self-loathing. The table toppled to its side and skittered across the floor to smash into the wall. "That sonuvabitch did things to Sammy that you can't even begin to imagine. He'll never be the same again, and no matter how I try to look at it, it's always gonna be my fault."

"I know Sam is hurting," she said as she shifted her gaze to the broke table, and then looked back to Dean. "And now he's just really scared that he'll never get back to the way things were before, but he doesn't blame you."

"Why'd you even come here?" Dean swallowed hard against the painful lump in his throat at the reminder of how terrified Sam was of him. _God, he wouldn't even let me near him. I could see it in his eyes, he's never gonna forgive me. _Shoulders slumping, he uttered, "You can't help me. You can't change what I did, so why don't you just go back to wherever it is that you came from?"

"Is that what you really want?" Mary rose to her feet, and strode the short distance to where he stood. "Do you really wish you called the police the day Shannon died? Even if it meant that you would go to prison for a crime you didn't commit?"

"In a heartbeat if it meant I could have my brother back," Dean said without the slightest hesitation.

"Alright, Dean." She gave a curt nod as she pressed two fingers against his forehead. "If that's what you really want." Intense light emanated from her fingertips, momentarily blinding Dean. His knees buckled and he dropped to the ground as stark pain rippled through his entire body. "Sometimes to have better understanding of what you've survived, you have to live what could've been."

"M-Mom, pl-please . . . ." His voice abruptly died away as an explosion of brilliant light encompassed him, and lifted his body off the ground. As his head dropped back onto his shoulders, his eyes drifted closed. He struggled for breath, lungs burning with the effort, but couldn't draw in any air. "S-Sammy," he silently mouthed as darkness drew him into its embrace.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Gasping for air, Dean drew in a deep breath, and instantaneously began coughing. He blinked hard against the harsh, bright light coming from overhead, and then squinted to take a look around at his surroundings.

His heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach as he noticed a man in a black robe sitting behind a raised bench at the front of the room. A man dressed in a policeman's uniform stood at his side, and a court stenographer sat typing in front of the witness stand. Dean shifted to his side, and inwardly groaned at the overweight, balding man who sat beside him shuffling papers. But as he twisted around, and saw Sam give him a reassuring smile, he couldn't help but grin back at him.

Sam leaned forward on the benched seat, and rested his forearms against the brass railing. "Don't worry, Dean, we're gonna appeal this," he said in a voice that was just above a whisper. "Bobby's out right now trying to dig up some evidence that'll prove you're innocent."

"M'okay, Sammy," Dean hastily assured, and breathed a sigh of relief when he looked in his little brother's eyes and saw only concern in them. "I'm just glad you're here."

The sound of the judge's gavel slamming down hard on the top of the ornate bench, brought Dean back to the reason he was in the courtroom. "Dean Winchester, will you please rise for sentencing." Dean pushed back his chair and slowly rose to stand along with his lawyer. The judge cleared his throat, and said, "But before I pass judgment, would any of the victim's family like to come forward to be heard?"

A murmur rose up through the courtroom as a raven-haired man with pale blue eyes stood and sauntered to the front of the room. _He can't be alive. He just can't be. Shannon killed . . . Oh, God. No, she didn't. What the hell did I do? _A tremor of fear raced down the length of Dean's spine as Dominic caught his eye. The cult leader then shifted his gaze to Sam briefly before focusing his attention on the judge.

Dominic clasped his hands together, then drew in a breath and slowly exhaled. "After my wife died," he began with tears filling his eyes, "I raised Shannon by myself. She was all I had, nd I loved her so much. She was smart, beautiful, and full of so much potential, but Mr. Winchester brutally took her from me . . . took her life away." He paused and cocked his head to the side to smirk at Dean before he once again donned the face of a grieving father. "We had started a church together, and Shannon was so happy with all the new family she had found while doing God's work." A sob caught in Dominic's throat as he played his part to the hilt.

"He's a lying sonuvabitch!" Dean smashed his fist down on the defendant's table. "He's a cold-blooded bastard, and she was terrified of him. He killed her, not me!"

"Order in the court," the judge hollered as he slammed his gavel down on his desk repeatedly, instantly silencing Dean. "One more outburst like that, Mr. Winchester, and you will be removed from my courtroom. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Dean snarled contemptuously.

"Good," he said, and returned his attention to Dominic. "Please continue."

"Shannon reached out to the community, and through her kindness and understanding we were able help so many people in need. Now she's gone because of Mr. Winchester, and all I can hope for is that he will never be allowed to hurt anyone again." Dominic choked on another sob, and made a show of wiping the tears from his eyes. "Please, for me . . . for all the people who lost a truly wonderful friend, give the defendant the maximum sentence allowable by law."

"Is that all, Mr. Cartaris?" The judge asked, and when Dominic nodded, he further added, "Then you may take your seat."

"Thank you, sir." Dominic turned around, and stared directly into Dean's eyes, before shifting back to face the judge. "I do have one more thing to say, your Honor."

"Alright, Mr Cartaris."

"I can only hope that Mr. Winchester will someday feel the same kind of pain I felt when I lost my only child." He cast a sidelong glance in Dean's direction, narrowed his eyes on him, and then trained his sights on Sam. "I want him to understand how deeply it cuts into your soul when someone you love more than life itself is brutally taken from you, and you're completely helpless to stop it from happening."

With rage overtaking any control Dean possessed, he grabbed the edges of the table and up heaved it, sending it crashing to the floor as he charged Dominic. Raising his arms, he rammed his cuffed hands into the older man's face. Then he swept his foot out, and slammed it hard against the back of Dominic's knees, knock him to the ground. He leapt on top of the cult leader's chest, gripped hold of his collar, and yanked him forward so they were face to face. "If you go anywhere near my brother again, I swear to God I'll kill you an' rip your freakin' heart out with my bare hands, you sonuvabitch!"

"Dean, stop," Sam shouted, and out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw his little brother rushing toward him. "You have to let him go, you're only making matters worse."

"Order in the court," the Judge commanded, slamming his gavel down with a loud crack against the desk. "There will be order in my courtroom!" He raised his voice when Dean made no attempt to release Dominic. "Bailiff remove Mr. Winchester from my courtroom. Immediately!"

"I will get outta here," Dean hissed through clenched teeth as he slammed another fist into Dominic's face. "And when I do, I will kill you!"

With a malicious glint in his eyes, Dominic mouthed the words, "I'm gonna kill him, Dean," and then smiled as several police officers ripped Dean away from him.

"Sam!" Dean bucked and squirmed in the officers' arms as they dragged him toward the doorway. "Lemme go. I need to talk to my brother." Leaning forward slightly, Dean slammed the back of his head into one of the police officer's face, and the man loosened his hold enough for Dean to break free. With a quick elbow jab to another officer's ribcage, he raced toward Sam as the man dropped to his knees, and wrapped his arms around his chest.

"Dean, what the hell are you doing?" Fear registered in Sam's hazel eyes as he gripped hold of Dean's arms. "You gotta stop this. They're gonna lock you away for the rest of your life."

"He's gonna come after you, Sammy," Dean uttered in a breathless rush. "He's gonna find you, an' he's gonna kill you."

"I'm not gonna let that happen," Sam tried to reassure, but Dean shook his head.

"You don't understand, I've seen what he can do, an' I can't let that happen to you again."

Sam quirked a puzzled brow as lowered his head to stare at Dominic, and then looked back to Dean. "What the hell are you talking about, Dean?"

"I don't have time to explain, but he's – " Dean's voice abruptly died away as one of the officer's slammed a baton into the back of his knees. With a cry of pain, he dropped to the floor, and wrapped his arms around his legs. Another baton cracked hard against his back. Five officers converged on him, pinning him to the ground, and shackled his feet together.

"Get the hell off of my brother." Sam gripped onto one of the men holding Dean down, and dragged him off of him. "He'll go with you, just don't hurt him anymore."

"Sammy, please, you can't let him hurt you again," Dean pleaded, tears brimming in his eyes as he sought out his brother in the growing crowd.

"I won't, Dean, I swear I won't." Sam pushed past three officers in an attempt to get to him, but they clutched hold of his arms, and roughly pulled him toward the witness stand.

The officers hauled Dean to his feet, lifted him off the ground and carried him toward the exit. "Call Dad, Sammy." He wriggled in the mens' arms, forcing them into the wall, and he hastily gripped hold of door handle. "An' don't you dare stop calling him until he comes to help you," he ordered, his voice rising in fear and anger as his hold on the doorknob slackened. "Understand? You call him, and do whatever you have to do to make sure he gets his ass here as soon as possible."

"Dean, Dad's . . . well, he's - he's . . . you know he died on a hunting trip last month." Seeing the tears shimmering in Sam's eyes as he spoke of their father's death, Dean's hand slipped away from the door, and every ounce of fight he had left in him dwindled to nothingness.


	52. Chapter 52

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Thanks for reading and sticking with the story. Thanks for all the awesome and encouraging reviews, they are so helpful when I get frustrated at how ungodly long this story has become. To everyone who reads and especially those who review, I think you are all so very awesome!! Bambers;)

_Chapter Fifty-Two_

Dean sat motionless in the small cell he had been thrown into a few days ago, mind reeling and screaming against the unbearable pain in his heart. Vaguely he recalled the judgment the judge had imposed on him, but even the sentence imposed for aggravated rape against Shannon hadn't stirred him to speak on his own behalf. _He can't be dead . . . He saved me and Sammy from Dominic. He couldn't have died._

His hand slipped beneath the collar of his bright orange prison uniform, fingertips searching for the horrific scar Dominic left behind when he wrote the word _weak_ on Dean's chest, but felt nothing but smooth skin where the mark had been. _It has to be there. It happened. I know it happened. _

Gripping a hold of both sides of his shirt, he ripped it apart, and gaped at his unmarred chest. Dean rolled up his sleeve, and touched the area Dominic had branded with the cross and sickles, yet again there was nothing there. _It never happened? _

"Winchester!" A tall, muscular officer clanged his baton across the iron bars, and Dean's head snapped up. "Visiting hours. Someone's here to see you."

Dean finally managed to find his voice and uttered, "My brother?"

"I don't know who it is." The burly man unlocked the cell, and motioned for Dean to step out of his confines.

As he followed the officer down the long cell block on the second floor, prisoners catcalled, whistled or cast muffled threats in his direction, but he stared stoically ahead as if he hadn't heard some of the very crude his mind solely on seeing his little brother, Dean drifted too close to one of the cells, and a beefy arm snaked out, circled around his neck, and rammed him up against the bars.

"Nice ass, princess," the prisoner murmured against Dean's ear, sending a wave of revulsion crashing down over the eldest Winchester. "I'm gonna have me some of you before the week is over."

Dean forcefully jerked away from the bearded man, and with fists clenched he swung to glare at the him. "You could try, but your sorry ass would be dead before you ever got the chance."

"Oh, sweet thing, I like it that you're feisty." He chuckled, dark brown eyes alight with the thought of a challenge. "It'll just make it all the more fun for me."

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but the officer slammed his baton against the bars, and the inmate backed away.

"That's enough out of you, Edgar." The officer grabbed hold of Dean's arm and roughly dragged him away from the cell. "In the future, steer clear of the bars," he ordered, and pushed Dean forward toward the stairs. The sandy-haired man led Dean into a room with rows of cubicles, and bobbed his head toward the last one. "You have twenty minutes."

Dean strode past the other inmates and took a seat at the last cubicle. His eyes widened in stunned surprise when within a few moments, Dominic entered the room. He took a seat on the opposite side of the glass partition, picked up the phone, and nudged his head toward the one on Dean's side. Glaring at the man who had taken everything away from him, he snapped up the phone.

"What the hell do you want?"

"Is that any way to talk to the only visitor you'll ever have?" Although the threat to Dean's remaining family was thinly veiled, it was nothing that could be used against Dominic if the prison was recording their conversation. "By the way, I happened to run into a relative of yours the other day. He wanted me to say hello for him because he just can't make it here to see you."

Dean's grip on the phone tightened as he stared into the cult leader's cold blue eyes. "You hurt my brother, an' there won't be a place in this world you can hide from me."

"Why would I want to hurt your brother, Dean?" Dominic reached into the pocket of his jacket and yanked out something in his closed fist. Whatever the object was, the cult leader wanted Dean to notice it as he kneaded it through his fingertips. "I happened to bump into that pretty little blond he's been dating . . . I think her name was Jessica," he smirked, "but maybe I'm mistaken."

"Jessica di – " _I never went to pick Sammy up from Stanford. He never went with me to find Dad. _"This is between you and me. You leave her out of this. You hear me?"

"But you're locked up in here, Dean, an' my daughter's dead because of you." A look of righteous indignation crossed his hawkish features, but as he let out a short laugh, it turned into sinister grin. "You really didn't leave me much choice in the matter when you choose to go to the police."

"You killed her," Dean snarled into the phone, "You killed her and my baby. An' so help me God, if it's the last thing I do, I'm gonna kill you for it."

For a brief moment, Dominic's cruel blue eyes widened, apparently shocked by Dean's outburst, but then his head fell back on his shoulders as he laughed. "So she told you she was pregnant with that bastard child of yours. I honestly didn't think she would."

"She told me everything." Boldly staring him in the eyes, Dean gritted out the lie. Shannon had barely told him anything about herself. If she had he could have been prepared for Dominic, and maybe she still would have been alive. "She told me about your cult. Your little daddy on daughter obsession. All your guns and weapons stashed away at both of your compounds. She didn't leave a single damn thing out."

"Did she also tell you you really shouldn't cross me, Dean?" His tone was deadly calm as his gaze ticked to the item in his right hand, and pinched it forward between his fingertips so Dean could see a tuft a dark brown hair poking out from beneath his thumb. "Did she even begin to convey what would happen if you even tried?"

Trembling and stomach clenching painfully, Dean stared at the locks of hair that undoubtedly belonged to Sam, and felt as helpless as he had when the cult leader had imprisoned him in the cellar. "L-let him go," he uttered, the tremor in his tone giving away his gnawing fears that Sam was already dead. "Jus' let him go."

"Let who go, Dean?" Tucking the tuft of hair back into his pocket, Dominic's lips hitched into a half-smile. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"He didn't do anything to you . . . he didn't even know about Shannon."

"True." Dominic leaned back in his chair, narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips as if he was actually giving some thought to what Dean had said. "But your Dad did, didn't he? Too bad about his untimely death . . . I bet he never even saw it coming. Just another nameless drifter shot in the back while on his way into his motel room. Crime's such a bitch, isn't it?"

Tears blurred Dean's vision as he listen to the murderer speak, envisioning his father caught unaware, and gunned down before he even had a chance to draw his own weapon. "That's not how my father died." He shook his head emphatically. "You're lying . . . you have to be lying."

"Do I look like the kind of man who would lie about a thing like that?" Dominic reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn leather wallet that Dean instantly recognized as belonging to his father. Propping it open, he yanked out a driver's license and slammed it up against the glass partition. "Apparently the men who killed him, made off with his wallet along with other personal items. Guns. Ammo. A really cool looking machete."

Dean pulled his gaze away from his father's blood stained picture, and glared at Dominic. "What the hell do you want from me? Whatever it is, I'll do it. Jus' leave my brother alone."

"I thought it was pretty obvious, Dean. I want you out of here so I can hunt you down."

"You want me to break out of here so you can try and kill me."

"No, you aren't gonna need to break out." Dominic smiled, exposing perfectly straight white teeth. "I know these phone conversations are recorded, an' I've just given you a free ticket out of here. I suggest you use it."

"You want the police to know you killed Shannon and my Father?" Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. He knew the man sitting across from him was insane, but had never realized before what lengths he would through to make Dean pay for taking Shannon away from him.

With a crazed glint in his eyes, Dominic leaned forward in his seat, and rested his arms against the table. "I don't care who knows what I did. All I care about is killing you for taking my daughter away from me. So you can either hide behind these bars or you can come after me." He stood to leave, but before hanging up the phone, he issued one final threat. "Your time is running out, Dean. If you chose not to come after me then your brother, his girlfriend, and anyone else you care about is fair game." He slammed the phone down, and stalked out of the room.


	53. Chapter 53

_Thanks for reading and for sticking with the story. As always, thanks for the awesome reviews, they mean the world to me. Bambers;)_

_Chapter Fifty-Three_

"He just came right out an' admitted it?" Bobby asked for what must have been the tenth time since he's picked Dean up in front of the prison, confusion warring with pure disbelief on on his craggy features. "I don't believe it . . . I jus' don't believe it." He shook his head, keeping his eyes focused on the road, waiting for Dean to tell him where they were headed.

"If you saw his eyes you'd believe it, Bobby." Dean cringed, recalling the murderous gleam in Dominic's blue eyes. "He just doesn't care. In his way of thinking, I took Shannon from him, an' now he wants to take everything from me."

From everything he knew of the cult leader, his warped sense of family meant everything to him. To him, Dean had been the catalyst in her murder. If he hadn't taken her in, sheltered and protected her from Dominic, she would still be alive.

"But you were in jail," Bobby reasoned, grip tightening around the steering wheel. "He won. Why abduct Sam and then give the police the information they needed to set you free?"

"Because it was too damn easy." Dean scowled. Memories flooded his mind of how Dominic had tore away at his defenses until he was nothing but a sad, pathetic shell of his former self. There were no half-measures in the madman's mind. He played not only to win, but to completely dominate. Yet if he was to dominate to his fullest satisfaction, he needed a worthy opponent, and with Dean in prison his victory more than likely seemed very hollow. Unsatisfying.

"He wants to see me grovel at his feet." The words caught and burned in his throat, recalling how he had done just that to stop all the mental torture.

"Well, that'll never happen," Bobby said confidently.

Shoulders slumping, Dean hastily turned his head to look out the side window, terrified that Bobby would see how wrong he was if he choose to glance in his direction at the moment. He wished he could have his friend's confidence, but when Mary sent him back in time to show him how things would have turned out if he had gone to prison for Shannon's murder, she'd left all his memories in tact. All the scars were gone, but the memories still burned him through and through. "You don't know him like I do," he muttered under his breath.

Bobby opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment Dean's cell phone rang, and with an irritated sigh he returned his attention to the road. Dean yanked his phone out of his pocket, saw that it was Jessica calling, and quickly jabbed the button, grateful for the diversion. "Jessica, have you heard anything from Sam?" he asked, although he already knew the answer before she even had a chance to speak.

"No, and it's been over a week now." Her soft voice was filled with worry and the love she felt for Sam."I feel like I should be doing something – I should've gone to the police."

Dean was silent for a few moments, trying to adjust himself to a reality where Jessica hadn't burned to death on the ceiling of her apartment much in the same way as his mother did. If he hadn't been there to convince Sam to leave and find their father, Jessica would still be alive – she was alive. This was the reality Sam would want to have for himself. But, Dean rationalized, their Dad had died in the trade-off – had died because of him. And for as much as wanted to see his little brother happy, he wouldn't have intentionally traded his father's life for hers. Yet, maybe that was the point. Maybe Jessica was the one who was supposed to survive. Maybe all the Winchesters were supposed to die, so she could live. She had been dragged into a war that had nothing to do with her . . . a twenty-two year old grudge against a demon with damn yellow eyes. And if so, maybe it was divine justice that Dominic had slithered his way into their lives to destroy them to the very core of their existence.

Although it was something they had never spoken aloud, they all silently understood that one day the job – the hunt for evil, would take their lives in the most brutal way imaginable. If that were true, and the Yellow-Eyed demon was somehow involved in this, it made perfect sense that they should all die by human hands instead of going out fighting against something supernatural. A cruel demonic joke. Dean imagined the crooked, glinting smile that would bring to Yellow-eyes face. _There's no way in hell I'd give him the satisfaction._

"I'm gonna find him, Jess," he assured, determined to save his brother or die trying.

"B-but what if you can't?" Her voice hitched, and he had no doubt that she was crying. "What if he's hurt or . . . ."

"He's gonna be okay," he tried to placate, but his own fears made his words sound less than reassuring. "I won't let anything happen to him."

"What's going on, Dean?" she asked in a breathy rush. "If he's alright like you keeping telling me, why hasn't he called?" Jessica paused for a moment, and he could imagine her worried expression fading to be replaced by a look of aggravation at being kept in the dark. "This isn't like Sam. He always calls . . . even if he's only gonna be a few minutes late – I should've called the police instead of listening to you and Bobby."

"I'm gonna find him," Dean reiterated, grounding out the words in such a way as to let Bobby know that he planned on searching for Sam on his own. There was no way in hell he was going to put Bobby's or Jess's lives at anymore risk. It was already bad enough that he had to call the older hunter to pick him up from prison.

"I'm coming with – " Jessica abruptly stopped speaking to him, and he could hear her muffled voice calling out to someone else. Within a moment, she returned her attention to the phone. "Hold on, Dean, someone's at the door."

"Jessica, wait . . . ." his voice trailed off as he heard her greet whomever was at the door.

"Yes, can I help you?" She sounded somewhat confused. "No . . . he's not here." There was a hesitation in her tone that immediately set off warning bells in Dean's head. "What did you say your name was again?" she asked, and must have moved close to whomever it was as Dean could now hear another woman's voice.

"Morning Dawn," the other girl responded in a cheery, casual manner that momentarily set Dean's mind at easy until he realized that he had heard the name before. "When I saw to him this morning, I was sure he told me to meet him here. Maybe I misunderstood."

"Jessica! Damn it, don't let her in the apartment." Dean shouted into the phone, garnering a worried look from Bobby.

"You saw Sam this morning?" Jessica's asked, apparently not hearing Dean's warning. "Where is he? Why didn't he come with you?"

"He came to me trying to find a way to free his brother from jail," Morning Dawn lied effortlessly. "I could've sworn he told me and my brother Markus to come here."

"Sam did mention the restaurant," a man now spoke up, and Dean stomach lurched violently as he recognized Markus' superior tone. "I knew we should have gone there first. This is the last time I listen to you, Dawn . . . I'm so sorry we bothered you."

"What restaurant?" Jessica asked, completely sucked into their well played deception. "If he's in town, why hasn't he come home?"

"No, Jessica, Don't listen to them. Run!" Dean hollered into the receiver, to no avail. Dean's white-knuckled the cell phone, straining to her everything Dominic's children had to say. "Bobby, drive faster! We have to get to her," he pleaded, although he knew it was utterly useless. She was in California and they were in Ohio, hundreds of miles separating them.

Bobby fished around in his pocket and yanked out his cell phone, and immediately placed a call. "Yes, I need to be connected to the police in Palo Alto, California. It's an emergency."

"I know he mentioned the restaurant, but he also said he wanted to make sure Jessica was okay first," Dawn went on to say as if she were rehearsing for the lead role in a play. "I guess I made a mistake. We should go, Markus, he's probably waiting for us."

"Sorry we bothered you," Markus said, trying to sound sheepish for making such a stupid mistake, but his smugness wasn't lost on Dean.

"Yes, they're there now." Bobby's voice rose in anger as he gripped tighter to the steering wheel. "I told ya I heard her screaming before the phone got disconnected . . . yes, a man and a woman."

"If you're meeting Sam, I'm going with you," Jessica said, without the slightest hesitation as Dominic and his children more than likely anticipated.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," Morning Dawn's replied, feigning concern in her lilting voice. "Sam didn't want you involved."

"Damn it, Jessica, don't listen to them," Dean yelled into the phone, feeling every bit as weak and useless as Dominic had made him feel during his captivity. They were going to kill her just like they had killed his father – like they were going to kill Bobby . . . Sam.

"I said I'm going with you," Jessica said determinedly. "I'm not just gonna sit here while he could be in danger. Either I go with you or I follow you to him, but I am going to see Sam."

"Alright," Markus conceded after a momentary pause, "but we're already running behind, so we have to get moving."

"Thanks," Jessica said in a breathy whisper. "Let me just get my shoes on, an' I'll be ready to go."

"Bobby. She's going with them." Unadulterated panic rose in Dean, nearly choking off his ability to speak.

"The police are on there way." Bobby cast a sorrowful glance in Dean's direction, obvious realizing the same thing as Dean.

"They're not gonna make."

"Dean," Jessica's voice cut through his fears, and he refocused all his attention on making her understand the danger she was in. "I know where he is."

"Jessica, get out of there now," he ordered, voice shaking with the fear that no matter what he said it was already to late to save her. "Please, just get the hell out of there. They're members of Dominic's cult." He waited, expecting for her to say something, but the only thing he could hear as he pressed the phone closer to his ear was the muffled sounds of her crying and breaking glass. Her pitiful crying faded away and unbearable silence filled the line. "Jessica . . . Jess, please answer me," Dean begged, brusquely swiping away the tears that slipped down his cheeks. "God, Jessica, please answer me."

"Hello, Dean," Markus suddenly said in a mocking tone, and Dean could picture him wearing the same smirking grin he had worn the day he had challenged him to target practice. In the background, Dean heard the sound of car doors closing and within a moment the roar of an engine. "Father wanted me to tell you that your brother screams like a little girl." He paused as if he were waiting for Dean to say something, and then laughed. "He wanted you to know that he stabbed Shannon thirty-seven times with your knife – thirty-seven times. He counted. He loved her more than anything. So tell me what do you think he's going to do to your brother, Dean?"

"You sick sonuvabitch," Dean breathed, rage building and seething within the pit of his stomach, overtaking any other conscious thought except the need for revenge. "I'm gonna drive my fuckin' knife so far through you, you'll look like human shish kebob."

"Father's just toying with him now, Dean. Although he's getting a little bit bored." Markus chuckle mirthlessly, and somewhere in the background, Dean could hear the sounds of sirens blaring, growing louder with each passing second. "I think the police are gonna be just a little too late to find Jessica . . . we brought her along for the ride."

"This is my fault. Leave them out of this." Sweat beaded on the back of Dean's neck, a shiver of dread raising the hairs on the back of his neck. "They didn't even know anything about Shannon."

"You should've heard your brother's fingers as they snapped, Dean – although, I only actually heard the first three break when Father slammed the hammer down on them. It was like a strange crunching, pop sound . . . you know, the kind of sound that just makes you wanna cringe even if it isn't happening to you. But after those three, all I could hear was this horrid, pitiful screaming."

Bile rose in Dean's throat, imagining Sam screaming for him to help him to no avail. He swallowed hard, recalling how his little brother's hands were both casted after their father had rescued them from Dominic. No one had ever mentioned what had happened to them, but now Dean had a sick, sinking feeling that just like in this reality, his fingers had all been smashed to pieces.

"Jus' let him go . . . do whatever you want to me, but jus' let him go," he begged, more useless tears stinging at his eyes. The present reality and the past reality blurred together until they were nearly the one in the same. The only difference now was that he responsible for not only his father's death but the fate of both Sam and Jessica as well. "I swear I'll come unarmed – I won't even put up a fight – jus' let him an' Jessica go."

"Dean!" Bobby slammed on the brakes and skidded to the side of the road. He swung in his seat to glower at Dean. Breathing heavily, he went on to argue, "What the hell are you talking about? Don't be stupid, boy . . . they aren't gonna let them go. You're just gonna end up getting yourself killed."

Resigned to do whatever he needed to do to stop Dominic from hurting Sam again, Dean pulled the phone away from his ear and covered it with his hand. "I can't let them die because of me, Bobby. You don't know them like I do – You have no idea what he'll do to Sam because of me."

He put the phone back to his ear just in time to hear Markus taunt in a sing-song voice. "I killed your Daddy, Dean. Shot him through the head, and just for good measure, I took a second shot . . . care to guess how long it took him to fall down dead?"

"I'm gonna kill you, you sonuvabitch," Dean snarled, hands clenching into tight fists.

"Well, you better hurry then." Markus let out a short barking laugh, not the least bit concern about the threat. "Cause you know what we're gonna do?" He paused again, apparently waiting for Dean to take a guess, but when he failed to respond, he continued, "We're all gonna take turns with your brother's pretty little girlfriend while he watches – and then we'll kill her. Slice her throat wide open. How do you think Sam will react to that . . . more pathetic screaming, I'd imagine."

"The screaming is gonna be coming from you, right before I rip your throat out," Dean's voice turned deadly calm, no longer listening to Markus' taunts. He knew where to find them. He knew the entire layout of the cult's compound. It was an advantage they would not be expecting. "Before you can even think to touch her, you and Dominic will be dead, along with anyone else who's harmed my brother in anyway. An' that's not a threat, asshole – it's a promise."


	54. Chapter 54

_Thanks for reading and for all the encouraging reviews, they really make writing such a long story so worthwhile when I get frustrated. Hope everyone enjoys the chapter. Bambers;)_

_Chapter Fifty-Four_

"All I'm sayin' is lemme call in a few favors, Dean," Bobby argued, warily eying Dean as he stalked a back and forth path in the small expanse of their shared motel room. "If there's as many of them as you say, we'd be damn fools to take 'em on by ourselves."

"I've already told you, I'm not putting anyone else's life in danger." Dean allowed the older hunter believe he wouldn't confront Dominic on his own as all-the-while he made plans to the contrary. Although he loathed lying to his longtime friend, he hated the idea of Bobby dying because of him a helluva lot more, and would do whatever was necessary to keep him safe. Yet, for all his assurances that he wouldn't do anything foolish, Bobby wasn't that naïve or maybe he just knew Dean too well.

He was waiting for Dean to make his move. His posture was rigid and on guard as if he were readying himself for battle, however it wasn't Dominic he planned on fighting, but Dean if he attempted to leave the motel on his own.

"It's getting dark an' it's a long drive, so we should probably get going," Dean said, conveniently leaving out any specific information pertaining to the exact location of Dominic's two compounds.

"If you're thinkin' about losin' me on the way, don't even try it, Dean," Bobby warned as he grabbed hold of his duffel of weapons, and stood to leave. "Cause you're my family, boy, an' I don't intend on losing you."

The double meaning behind Bobby's words were not lost on Dean, and guilt clenched hard in the pit of his stomach. "I don't plan on losing you along the way," Dean muttered, taking solace in the partial truth of his lie.

Dean led the way out the door, and headed to the Impala as Bobby made his way to his truck. It only took a matter of moments for the older hunter to cross the lot, notice that all his tires were flattened, and another moment for him to swing back around to face Dean. In that short amount of time, Dean had managed to slip behind the wheel of his vehicle, turn the key in the ignition, and threw the car into drive. As Bobby darted toward the car, Dean hit the gas pedal, mouthed the word's 'sorry, Bobby', and peeled out of the parking lot.

Within a few seconds, his cell phone thrummed out Back in Black, and if he'd thought letting it go to his voicemail would give Bobby the hint that he wasn't coming back, he was sorely mistaken. For the next half hour the phone rang incessantly, the constant back to back calls grating on his already taut nerves. After what must have been the fortieth call, he yanked the phone out his pocket and jabbed the button.

"Dean, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Bobby hollered into the phoned before Dean even had a chance to speak. "You go there by yourself, you're gonna get yourself killed."

Shoulders drooping, Dean sighed in resignation. "I know your not gonna understand this, Bobby, but Sam's gone . . . he was - this was never about him." A alone tear shimmered and slipped down his cheek unchecked as he recalled how Sam had recoiled from his touch after he'd rescued him from the bomb Dominic had planted on him. "An' I know he's gone . . . I can feel it with every breath I take. An' I'm so sorry," Dean's voice trailed off as he thought of the look of fear on his little brother's face when he'd first visited him at the hospital. The desperate, broken look in his hazel eyes left jagged scars in Dean's battered soul that would never heal no matter how much time past. "But that sonuvabitch took away the only chance I had to make things right again between me an' Sammy."

"Dean, you don't kn - "

"Don't tell me I don't know, Bobby," Dean gritted out, angrily swiping the back of his hand across his cheek, drying his mutinous tears. "He killed my father . . . my b-baby," his voice hitched, recalling how Dominic taunted him with the fact that he'd killed Shannon knowing she was pregnant with Dean's child. "There's gonna be nothing left of Sam to save - an' I won't bury my brother . . . I won't."

"Don't throw away your life this way, Dean," Bobby uttered, his tone as close to pleading as Dean had ever heard before. "Sam . . . he'd want you to - "

"He'd want me out of his life . . . he cut me out - started a new life, forgetting everything an' everyone that mattered," Dean somehow managed to say, and swallowed hard against the thick, painful lump in his throat. Hands tightening around the steering wheel, he turned onto the road leading to the first of the two compounds. "An' yet I somehow still managed to drag him back in." Through blurred vision, he maneuvered his car in between the cover of trees and hit the brakes. "So I figure what the hell . . . last Winchester left standing deserves to go out with guns blazing, an' if I take out a few of those sons of bitches along the way, I've done my father proud, an' that's nothing to be ashamed of." Without waiting for Bobby to respond, Dean snapped his phone shut, and ripped out the battery.

Propping his forearms against the steering wheel, Dean leaned forward and peered through the trees, searching for any sign of Dominic's men. He knew where they would be stationed, and also could estimate how many he would have to kill before he reached Dominic. The odds stack against him were impossible, and realizing this, his hopes of seeing the look in Dominic's eyes as a bullet struck him dead center in the heart, dwindled to nothingness.

In his mind he could hear the unbearable sound of children crying, their terrified wailing growing ever louder as blood spilled to the ground around them as they scurried for the protection of the trees. At one time he had protected them, had thought of them as family, but how could he spare them now? If they had the chance to grow up, they would be filthy murderers just like Markus.

_What about Raine? What if she's in there with them?_ His mind rebelled against the thought of her dying by his hand. Although he understood she wouldn't be the same girl he had married, she had still been his wife, and no matter how he looked at it, he couldn't justify killing her. She'd been kind to him, had taken gentle care of all his injuries caused by Dominic and his men. If anyone deserved to live, it was her, and he'd be damned if he'd watch her die again.

Dean quietly pushed open his door, cringing as the hinges creaked, but at the same time took comfort in the noise. It was the sound of home - his home. In the end, it was the one thing they could never take and keep from him. His hand lovingly trailed along the edge of the roof as he plodded to the back of the vehicle. In every way his Baby was a true Winchester - battle ready - battle scarred.

_No one's ever gonna take you from me again . . . I'd burn in Hell first._ Popping the trunk, Dean shifted through all his gear, pulling out every gun he owned, along with all of the ammo. He laid them carefully on the ground away from the car. Then he turned back and rummaged around in the trunk until he found a can of lighter fluid. With hands trembling, he slowly circled the Impala, liberally dousing her inside and out with the noxious liquid.

"This is for you, Sammy." Fishing through his pocket, he yanked out a zippo lighter, struck it, and threw it into the car through the open driver's side door.

Dean shielded his eyes as bright flames rapidly spread through the inside of his car, engulfing it completely within a matter of moments. Intense heat scorched his face, but his feet remained rooted to their spot as he stood mesmerized by the sight of his Impala going up in flames . . . and somehow it seemed fitting. Everything in his life began with a fire, and so it would end with one as well.

He couldn't bring himself to feel sad or remorseful - his heart was too empty . . . his soul too tired of fighting the good fight. The things that he had wanted for himself, the things that every person had the God given right have, never stood a chance against the war he had been drafted into, but how could he regret the life he never had when others lived because he merely existed as a drifter in the shadows?

"It was one helluva a ride, wasn't it little brother?" he mused aloud, a sad smile briefly flitting across his features as he recalled Sam being at his side as they drove through backwoods America, following their father to their next big hunt.

"Dean," a familiar feminine voice called out from directly behind him, startling him as she gently touched him on the shoulder.

"H-he's dead, isn't he?" he asked without turning to face his mother. "No, you don't have to answer that, I already know."

"You do have a choice, Dean," his mother shifted her position to stand in front of him. Trailing her fingertips along his cheekbone, she placed them beneath his chin and lifted his head so he was looking her in the eyes. "If you think things should end this way then I can't stop you, but I'm begging you to give Sam a chance. I know he's lost his way, but he loves you so much, an' needs the time you're going to be denying him if you choose this path."

"He'll never forgive me," Dean muttered, lowering his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the disappointment etched into every line and detail of her face. "Everything he suffered through was because of me, so how can I look at him when I know what I'll see in his eyes?"

"Dean, you didn't do anything wrong." She smiled as she drew him into her protective embrace. "You were as much a victim as Sam was - your only crime being that you cared too much, and wanted to protect Shannon." Resting his head on her shoulder, Dean fisted his fingers through her hair, and pulled her closer to him. "At some point, you have to let someone in through that fortress of walls you've built to hide all the pain burning you up inside, so why not try trusting in Sam?"

"No one cares what a soldier thinks, Mom, they just want you battle-ready and willing to give your life for the cause."

"That may be true, but every soldier needs to come home at some point, and if he's battle weary then he damn well deserves someone there to give him comfort." She pulled back away from him and looked him in the eyes again. "It doesn't make you weak, it makes you human, and there's nothing wrong with that."

"I guess it's easy to say that when you're dead and no one's looking to you to be their hero - your every failure reflecting in their eyes - so I can't even consider letting my guard down for a moment because look at what happens when I do." Dean broke free of her hold on him and swung to gesture toward Dominic's encampment hidden amongst the tree. "And if Sam can't forgive me, then maybe it's better it all ends right now cause I'm too damn tired to fight anymore."

"If you really thought that, you would've already made your choice, and I won't still be standing here."

"Huh, really cause I thought burning the only home I've ever known was pretty much my decision."

Mary shifted to stare at the burning carcass of Dean's once beloved Impala, and slowly shook her head. "I know you loved your car, but it's only another possession, and can't be compared to the feelings you have for your brother - an' you know in your heart that if there's even the slightest chance that you can mend what's happened between the two of you, you'll grip onto it like it's a life raft and you'll pull Sam aboard and keep him safe until the storm subsides."

Ducking his head, Dean glanced up at her through veiled lashes. The soft, warm glow of firelight played across her delicate features, flickering brilliantly in her bluish-gray eyes, and within their endless depths he found a spark of hope.

"You really think I can fix things between me and Sam?"

"Even when you were little, Dean, you were always a fighter." A sad smile graced her features as she lightly ruffled her fingers through his hair. "I'd put you to bed, an' you'd just keep getting back up until I'd give in, make some popcorn and watch a movie with you. Of course even back then you insisted that Sam needed to be up with us because he might get scared if he was in his crib alone - I can't tell you how many times John ended up carrying you to bed when you fell asleep after the opening credits."

"I don't remember that," Dean breathed in a hushed whisper, searching his mind for any clear memories of his mother before the fire, but couldn't recall any.

"Wizard of Oz," She chuckled, "You loved the Wicked Witch, thought she was the coolest, but you hated the winged monkeys." Her laughter grew louder as Dean blushed profusely. "I always had to cover your eyes whenever they came on screen while you covered Sammy's eyes."

"I covered Sam's eyes because of winged monkeys?" Dean now chuckled as well, thinking of all the real creatures they had dealt with, and couldn't imagine a time when he would be frightened by monkeys with wings.

"You said he'd get nightmares, an' it was your job as big brother to protect him."

The laughter died on his lips as he considered all his mother had said to him, but no matter how hard he tried, everything always circled back to the harsh, unrelenting truth that it wasn't winged monkeys Sam was afraid of but him. "Things will never be the same between us again."

"Maybe not, but you'll never know for certain unless you're willing to give him a chance to prove you wrong."

"And you really think he will?" Dean glanced up hopefully at her.

"Sam's a lot stronger than you think - stubborn and determined, just like your father. Give him a reason to fight for you, and I truly believe the two of you can overcome any obstacle in your path," Mary gently coaxed, and as she stared off into the woods behind Dean a worried frown creased her brow. Her tone turned more urgent as she added, "Please say you'll try, Dean . . . I really need to hear you say it."

Dean fell silent once more, fear warring with the desire to believe he had a chance to make things right, but before he had the chance to respond, the sound of gunfire cracked through the night. His body abruptly jerked forward as stark, burning pain shot through his entire back. For a moment all he could do was stare dumbfounded at his mother. Then he glanced down at the crimson stain on his flannel shirt, growing ever wider by the second, and horrible understanding dawned on him.

"M-Mom," he stammered, blood spilling from his mouth as he clutched his chest, and fell forward into her arms.

"Say it, Dean," Mary commanded, tears shimmering in her eyes. "Tell me you wanna live . . . tell me you want to be the fighter I know you are - I can't help you unless you do."


	55. Chapter 55

_So, not too many more chapters to go now...I am thinking about 5 or 7 more and I should have everything wrapped up nicely. thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story. And a huge thanks to those who have continued to review!! Bambers;)_

_Chapter Fifty-Five_

Eyes slowly fluttering open and closed, Dean's vision blurred as he tried to hold onto the fading image of his mother's face. Vaguely, he heard the sounds of muted voices, and latched onto the one that sounded the most familiar. Markus. His muddled mind wrapped around the conscious thought of being in danger, but couldn't transfer that thought into action.

Blood gurgled in the back of his throat as struggled to draw in each harsh, rasping breath. Legs wobbling precariously, his knees buckled and he weakly grabbed hold of his mother's shoulders to steady himself. Carefully guiding him to the ground, she rested his head on her lap. Hands trembling, he reached up and trailed his bloodied fingers down her cheek.

"Please, Dean," she softly coaxed, gripping hold of his hand as it fell away from her face. "You're running out of time."

Swallowing hard against the blood pooling at the back of his throat, he gagged on the metallic taste, and coughing repeatedly, he hastily tilted his head to the side to spit out a mouthful of blood. His eyelids fluttered closed once more, and sluggishly opened as he shifted back to look up at her.

"S-S'mmm," he mumbled incoherently with pleading eyes in hopes that she would somehow realize what he wanted. Licking his parched, blood stained lips, he tried again when she failed to respond, "S'mmm . . . l-li - " Blood gurgled in his throat, abruptly choking off his words. Coughing and gasping for breath, he peered fearfully into her bluish-gray eyes.

"It's okay, honey, you can let go," she murmured in a sad lilting voice, lightly kissing him on the forehead."Just close your eyes and let go."

She hadn't understood him, she'd believed he wanted to die, and she was granting him his unspoken wish. His heart pounded furiously inside his chest, fear welling to overflowing as he felt himself begin to drift. Struggling to keep his eyes open, terrified that if he closed them they would forevermore remain that way, he weakly shook his head.

"I swear it'll be alright, Dean," she assured, lulling him into eternal sleep with her soothing voice, and his eyes slipped closed.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Sam peered between the gaping cracks in the wooden boards covering the front window of the old Simmon's place, but couldn't detect any movement from within the farmhouse. He then glanced back over his shoulder at Dean's Impala, and a frown creased his brow. He knew his brother had to be inside, but what he couldn't fathom was why he'd chosen to come back to this particular home. They'd taken care of the vengeful spirits that had inhabited the dwelling. However just to be certain, he'd checked on his laptop along with local newspapers, and couldn't find anymore incidents involving the abandoned home, so it made absolutely no sense at all.

He took a step toward the entrance, and froze, stomach churning at the thought of seeing his older brother again. _What if he doesn't want to see me?_ Dean had tried so damn hard to reach out to him over and over again, and he'd shut him out every single time._ I wouldn't blame him if he didn't after the way I've treated him.  
_

Sam stood rooted in his spot as indecision warred with his determination to confront Dean to set things right. _Maybe I should go. If he'd wanted me here, he would've called._ He glanced at the Chevy Nova he'd stolen from Bobby's salvage yard, and took a step toward the stairs, stopping short when he heard strange, low gurgling noises coming from somewhere inside the house.

For a moment he stood listening to the sound, eyes scrunched in confusion, and then they widened considerably as his heart skipped a beat.

"Dean!" he shouted, kicking in the front door in his attempt to get to his brother as quickly as possible. Pausing just inside the threshold, he craned his neck and listened. Within a moment, he heard the noise again. Now fearing Dean's life was in danger, pure instinct overrode any other emotion, and he swiftly withdrew his gun and darted headlong into the living room.

Fear twisted to confusion on his brow as he spied Dean sprawled on the couch, one leg hanging over the side. Gasping for air, Dean's hand twisted around the faded fabric of his flannel shirt as he clutched at his chest, spurning Sam into action. Hastily returning his weapon to his waistband, he darted around the coffee table and rushed to his brother's side, dropping down beside him.

Eyes pressed firmly closed, Dean continued to thrash and gasp for breath as Sam struggled to assess his condition, but found no apparent injuries. _He's got to be choking on something._ He quickly glanced at the coffee table, searching for whatever food his brother might be choking on, but found nothing on the glass tabletop. Suddenly Dean's hand fell loosely to the side to brush against Sam's leg, lips parting slightly to release a small puff of air as he went deathly still.

"Come on, Dean, don't do this to me," Sam uttered, placing his fingers at the side of his brother's throat, searching for a pulse but finding nothing. _No. No. No. No. No. Damn it, don't you die on me. _

Kicking the table aside, Sam dragged Dean to the floor, tilted his head back and scooped a finger through his mouth to clear away any possible obstructions. After lowering his head to listen and make sure his brother wasn't breathing on his own, Sam pinched Dean's nose close and gave him two breathes.

"I'm not letting you die on me," Sam vowed as he laced his fingers together, and began chest compressions. "I didn't come all this way to bury you." Thirty compressions given, he gave his brother another two breaths, then repeated the compressions.

Sweat beaded on his brow as he continuously repeated the life saving technique over and over again, to no avail, but refused to give up even as his tired muscles cramped in protest. Tears blurred his vision as he uselessly gave his brother two more breaths and watch his chest slowly rise and fall then go completely still.

Pushing himself backward to rest against the couch, Sam pulled Dean to his chest, and wrapped his arms around him, fisting the fabric of his shirt in his hands as tears slipped down his cheeks unchecked. "I'm so sorry, Dean," he sobbed brokenly, slowly rocking back and forth. "I can't make this right if you're gone . . . so you can't be gone. You hear me?" Sam shook his brother's lifeless body. "I said you can't be gone, so wake the hell up!"

Dean's head lolled to the side as Sam loosened his hold to look at him briefly before tightening his hold once again. "I know it wasn't you, Dean . . . you have to give me a chance to fix things between us . . . I - I deserve a chance to make this up to you. So you can't give up on me now."

Sam fell silent, listening to the wind whistling through the boarded windows, rattling the broken glass. As the chilled breezed died away, he heard the faint sound of something beeping near the doorway, and narrowed his eyes on Dean's duffel bag. Craning his neck, he tilted his head to the side to listen closer, trying to determine what the noise was, and scrunched his eyes in confusion when he realized it was Dean's EVP recorder.

Never taking his sights of his brother's duffel, Sam shouted, "Dean, if that's you, you'd better be workin' on a way to get yourself back inside your body or I swear I'll salt an' burn your sorry ass."

"Well, that'd be k-kinda awkward after that whole ch-chick-flick moment we jus' had," Dean mumbled weakly.

Mouth dropping wide open, Sam's head snapped back, eyes widening to gape at him. "Y-you were dead. "I mean, you were really dead . . . I tried to revive . . . you - you can't be alive."

"Guess you can never underestimate the power of the chick-flick moment." Dean tried to chuckle, but it quickly turned into a barking cough. "That would kinda make you like Vader without the cool light saber."

"You're really okay?" Sam asked, loosening his hold on Dean to check him over, certain he was hallucinating. "You're really alive?"

"Either that or you're talking to a dead person, Haley Joel." Dean pushed himself into a sitting position, and leaned back against the couch beside his brother. "But seeing that I'm really starving, I'd say it's a safe bet to say I'm alive."

Biting pensively at his lower lip, Sam fell silent as he felt the walls building between them as Dean made light of the whole experience. If Sam allowed him to, he would bury the past few months so deep in his subconscious, he would almost be the same person again. Almost. Yet the haunted, faraway look in his eyes, spoke of how shattered he was inside, and no amount of burying would ever cover that amount of pain.

He opened his mouth to speak, but instead of saying what was on his heart to say, he uttered, "Wanna go grab something to eat?"

"Sure thing, Sammy," he replied, smile fading to a sad frown.


	56. Chapter 56

_So, I'm figuring about 4 or 5 more chapters left to go to tie up all the loose ends . . . for everyone still sticking around, thanks for reading and for the really encouraging reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Fifty-Six_

Unbearable silence had settled between Sam and Dean as they both eyed the uneaten food on their plates, yet neither seemed willing to strike up a conversation as the moments slowly ticked by. Sam had opened his mouth several times to speak, throat constricting painfully with the need to say something – anything, but the words died on his lips. His mind reeled, churning with irrational and paralyzing fears, yet for all he had endured, he knew it was not Dean's fault, but didn't know how to stop blaming him nonetheless.

His drug induced hallucinations, were just that – Hallucinations. They weren't real. Dean had never hurt him. He hadn't cruelly taunted and tortured him, nor had he tried to kill him. Yet no matter how he tried to reason it out in his mind, those drug filled delusions still weighed heavily on his thoughts and actions. For months they had crippled him, had kept him a fearful prisoner too afraid to see and accept the truth of things, so how was he suppose to let go of that in just one day's time?

With his head bowed, he chanced a quick look at his brother. Their eyes locked for the briefest of moments, and then Sam hastily lowered his sights to stare at the unappetizing chicken sandwich on his plate. At the sound of tinkling bells, he tilt of his head, glanced over his shoulder at the entrance of the diner, and breathed a sigh of relief noticing that the newest patrons entering the building both had full heads of hair, looking nothing like any of Dominic's cult members. With another heavy sigh, he returned his attention to his meal.

"We can go if you want, Sam," Dean muttered, pushing aside his plate, and motioned for the waitress to bring the check. "Guess I'm not as hungry as I thought," he added when Sam lifted his head to look at the untouched hamburger and fries on his plate.

"Why the Simmon's place, Dean?" Sam forced out the words, desperately searching for a connection with his brother that had nothing to do with Dominic or the cult. "Did we miss something there?"

"Not exactly," Dean replied evasively, and fell silent again as the waitress sauntered over and handed him the check.

As soon as the young blond waitress walked back to the counter Sam leaned forward in his seat, rested his arms on the table, and asked in a hushed voice, "What do you mean by not exactly? Either we did or we didn't."

"I was just passing through town, knew the place would be empty, and seein' that I was kinda short on money, I thought I'd stay there for a while."

It was a logical answer, one Sam normally wouldn't have questioned as they had stayed in abandon dwellings in the past when money was tight, but there was something about the look in Dean's eyes that clearly indicated he was lying. Biting at his low lip, he recalled how the EVP recorder went off when he'd thought Dean had died, strange fluttering noises mingling with the dull shhhhhing sound of the tape, and knew it wasn't a coincidence. Something was in that house, Sam would stake his life on it, but whatever it was, Dean didn't want him to know about it.

"So there's nothing wrong there?" he questioned again, silently willing his older brother to confide and tell him the truth, and couldn't manage to hide his look of momentary disappointment when Dean gave a quick shake of his head. "Alright," he uttered with a curt nod, and paused for a moment to gather his courage before further adding, "so it'll be okay if I stay there with you?"

At first it appeared as if Dean would tell him no, quivering lips softly mouthing the word, but as he chanced a glance at Sam and their eyes locked, he nodded. "Sure, if you want to." Sam hesitated just long enough in his response that Dean tried to let him of the hook. "It's okay if you don't want to, Sam – believe me, I get it. I understand you don't really wanna be here . . . I've watched you eying the door, searching out all the exits when you don't think I'm looking . . . so I guess what I'm saying is that if this is how it's going to be, I'd really rather you didn't."

"It wasn't because of you," Sam reluctantly replied, loathed to admit that he was seeing potential cult members in every person he encountered. "It was really hard getting here – once I tried going inside this convenient store, saw this damn bald-headed guy, an' . . . an' I jus' froze. After that I never got out of the car unless it was to get gas. So if I was looking toward the door, it had nothing to do with you." With a subtle nod, Dean combed a hand through his scruffy hair, and Sam smiled in understanding of the simple gesture. "Does that mean I can stay with you, Dean?"

"The place is falling apart." Dean grinned, reaching into his pocket to grab his wallet.

"I'm sure we've stayed in worse places." Sam eyed the wad of cash in his brother's wallet as he opened it, and threw down a couple of bills on the table. There had to be at least several hundred dollars stashed inside the leather wallet, more than enough to rent a motel room, further confirming Sam's suspicions about the Simmon's place.

"I wouldn't be surprised if there's a ton of rats there as well," Dean further added as he stood and headed toward the door, giving Sam another opportunity to change his mind.

"Again, not unlike a ton of other places we've stayed." Sam eased himself out of his seat, stood and followed his brother out of the building.

At the Impala, Dean paused with his hand on the door handle, and looked up at Sam. For several long moments, he stood motionless, staring long and hard at him. "You're sure, Sammy . . . I mean, you're really certain you want to stay with me? Cause I just can't do this again . . . I can't." Pulling his lower lip into his mouth, he worried at it as he bowed his head and glanced up at Sam's through veiled lashes. "Leaving the first time was hard enough, it'd kill me to do it again – but I would if it hurt you too much if I stayed."

"I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you. So if you're done trying to make me leave, can we get going cause I'm exhausted." Sam opened the car door, and slid onto the passenger's seat before Dean had a chance to say another word, leaving him with no other alternative than to follow suit.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Sam hadn't been lying when he'd said he was tired as the moment his head hit the pillow he was out cold, and Dean was forced to wonder if his little brother had gotten any sleep at all in the last few days. For the longest time, Dean stood at the entrance of the bedroom their mother had given him to use, watching his brother toss and turn in fitful slumber, and winced every time he heard Sam cry out in anguished pain.

Although, admittedly Sam looked a helluva lot better than the last time Dean had seen him, he couldn't help but notice how much paler and thinner he appeared, not to mention the dark smudges that rimmed his eyes. Dean had also noticed how his brother's hand trembled as he picked up his chicken sandwich as if the simple movement required extreme effort on his part, and cursed under his breath recalling the casts on both his hands.

He understood that it had taken every bit of sheer willpower and courage Sam possessed to set out to find him on his own. Yet, instead of feeling relieved at being found, he was terrified that he wouldn't or couldn't be deserving enough of the effort it took on his brother's part. His fingertips trailed over his chest, rubbing at the word etched into his skin by Dominic. He was weak because he couldn't make it without Sam – didn't want to make it without him. Weak because deep down in his soul he wanted things to return to normal – not that they had ever been normal – but normal where sarcastic banter meant 'hey, I'm sorry for all the bad shit that's happened along the way', and the actual words were never needed. And weak because even if it was in his heart to apologize for everything that had happened to Sam, the words would stick like cement at the back of his throat, and never make it past his lips.

With a heavy heart, and drooping shoulders, Dean pivoted on his heel and headed downstairs. At the landing, he dropped to his knees, and peered down the darkened hole in the floorboards. Moisture blurred and stung at his eyes as he recalled that long ago night when he was what Sam needed. When he was the one who saved his little brother from more pain, instead of being the cause of it, and wished with all the ache burning in his soul that he could somehow turn back the hands of time, so he could be his brother's hero again.

"Mom?" The softly murmured word left his mouth in a breathy rush as he tilted his head from side to side to look around the abandoned home. "Please, Mom . . . tell me what to do here, cause I don't know what to do." His head dropped back onto his shoulder, glancing at the ceiling, but only envisioning the utter look of devastation and mistrust in Sam's eyes the night Dean had disarmed the bomb that Dominic's men had wired to him. "He doesn't wanna be here . . . I don't know why he is, but if he does stay I'm only gonna end up screwing things up worse than they already are. So how am I supposed to get him to leave when I don't want to let him go?"

Dean fell quiet, waiting for his mother to appear, but as the moments stretched outward in awkward silence, he understood that his mom was taking her cue from their father, and conveniently wasn't around when he needed her the most. "So this is how it works?" he gave a curt nod, eyes narrowing in disgust. "You somehow manage to get Sam here just so I could screw things up royally while you take off?"

"Dean?" came Sam's groggy voice from the top of the stairwell, startling Dean. He lurched, splaying his arms out to the sides to catch himself before toppling face first into the crater in the floor. "Dean!"

Sam sprinted down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Suddenly a loud crack reverberated down the stairwell, Dean glancing up in time to see Sam's foot go through the weakened wood before he tumbled forward, fell the rest of the distance, crashing into him. Braced for impact, Dean's stomach clenched as the the ground beneath him splintered. Pushing off the ground with the tips of his fingers, he vaulted backward, knocking Sam back into the stairs.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean managed to utter between rasping breaths, pivoting in his spot to check his brother over for any apparent injuries, and cursed under his breath as he noticed blood trickling from his nose. "I-I didn't mean to . . . I was just trying to – damn it, why'd you have to come running down the stairs? I wasn't gonna fall."

"From where I was standing it sure as hell looked like you were," Sam argued, pinching his nose closed with his thumb and index finger.

"You could've broken your neck."

"An' you could've broken yours, too." Bracing his hand against the wall, Sam pushed himself to his feet, and limped into the living room with Dean following close behind him.

"You want some ice for that?" He gestured toward Sam's nose.

"No," Sam shook his head, "what I wanna know is who you were talkin' to when I was upstairs."

"Let me get you a cold cloth, Sam, you're bleedin' all over the place." Dean spun on his heel, and hastily backtracked out of the room before his brother had the chance to ask any more questions.

"Don't walk away from me, Dean," Sam shouted, storming after him, following him into the kitchen. "Something's wrong about this place . . . Something you're not telling me about, an' I think I have the right to know."

It was on the tip of Dean's tongue to tell Sam about their mother, but couldn't even begin to imagine how he would explain what she was to him. They'd dealt with every kind of evil imaginable, never once coming across something supernatural that was purely good in nature, so he seriously doubted Sam would accept that angels were real. "I'm telling you there's nothing evil here, can't we just leave it at that?"

"The EVP recorder turned on by itself."

"Maybe the batteries were faulty."

"Batteries are never faulty where we're concerned. You know that, Dean, so tell me what's going on."

"Well, this time they were." With his back to Sam, Dean shuffled through the cabinets, found a clean dishtowel, and wet it down. Handing it to Sam, he took a seat on the barstool, and rested his arms on the marble table top. "Trust me, Sammy, there's nothing to hunt here."

Sam pushed back a stool, took a seat beside Dean, and pressed the cloth to his nose for a few moments, then wiped away the blood from his mouth and chin. "I'm trying to trust you . . . I really am, but you're not giving me much of a reason to, Dean. I show up here to find you're apparently choking to death. Then you die on me . . . I mean, really die, an' not ten minutes later you're up looking for dinner. And that's not to mention how you tell me you're broke, but then you open your wallet, and I see that you've got several hundred dollars stuffed in there." Sam heaved an irritated sigh as he cast a sideways glance at Dean. "Now I find you talkin' to someone who's not there, so you tell me what I'm suppose to think?"

Dean remained quiet, silently cursing himself for not realizing that Sam would pick up on the fact that he had more than enough money to rent a place to stay. _What am I suppose to say to him? Yeah, Sammy, Mom was here. She sent me to another reality so I could see how screwed up things would be there, then I died and came back to life. Yep, he'll be takin' me to the funny farm for sure. _

"You know the last time we were here was the day after my seventeenth birthday." Sam stood, strode to the arched kitchen entrance, and nudged his head toward the hole in the floor. "Easy hunt, vengeful spirits – nothing we hadn't dealt with before, right?"

"Sam, don't." Dean was on his feet the moment Sam mentioned the last time they were at the Simmon's place, knocking over the stool, but he scarcely noticed as he headed for his brother. "Let's just go . . . we can go find a motel to stay at."

"Dad outside searching for the graves, you an' me in here just to distract them." Sam tilted his head to the side and cast a quick glance at Dean before retraining his sights on the broken floor boards. "Except it was anything but normal . . . that thing had me pinned to the ceiling, an' there wasn't a damn thing I could do . . . it reminded me of mom." Falling silent for a brief moment, Sam rubbed his eyes, then raked a hand through his hair. "All I could think was that it was the thing that killed her, an' I just shut down."

"Please, Sammy, don't – " Dean once again tried to stop him from reliving the horrible memories of that night, but Sam cut him off.

"An' then you were there, an' I was falling . . . you know, I don't even remember going through the floor." With a deep breath, Sam took a step into the open foyer.

"An' I'll never forget it," Dean mumbled under his breath, following his brother as he made his way back to the stairs.

"But I do remember you carrying me up those basement steps," Sam uttered as he trailed his foot over the edge of the broken floorboards. "In fact it's all I thought about while I was driving here . . . it was the excruciating pain you felt that night that led me here to you now."

Dean swallowed hard at the unwanted memories Sam's words were rekindling in his mind."You were in an' out of consciousness for six days before you finally came around."

Biting at his lower lip, Sam looked up at him, pinning him with a stare. "Is that a first hand account or secondhand knowledge, Dean?"

"What?"

"It's not a hard question . . . do you know that cause you were sitting beside my hospital bed the whole time or is it what you heard when you finally woke up from the coma you were in?"

Confusion furrowed Dean's brow. "I-I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"I wasn't the only one who went through that hole, Dean," he tapped his foot on the splintered boards for emphasis, "but I _am _the only one who seems to remember what really happened that night. Think I might've blacked out for a few minutes, but the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was you falling straight at me, but you go caught up in the wood, an' it sliced you open pretty bad before you fell the rest of the way."

Backing away from the crater in the floor, Dean shook his head. "That's not how it happened, Sammy. I found the basement stairs, and came after you."

"Just lift your damn shirt, Dean, you've got the freakin' scar that runs from your right side around to your back. From what dad said, you had to have something like a hundred-fifty stitches . . . how can you not remember that?"

"You know what, I'm not gonna stand here an' listen to this." Thinking of the jagged scar Sam mentioned that he could never quite recall getting, Dean turned on his heel, and stormed toward the door, calling back over his shoulder, "I'm going out for a drink, don't wait up."


	57. Chapter 57

So I'm guessing there is only like 3-4 chapters left to go from here...thanks for reading and all the support and reviews. bambers;)

_Chapter Fifty-Seven_

Sam hadn't meant to push Dean so hard, and in truth understood why Dean chose to mentally block out the events that had taken place after they had both been injured. While most people preferred to bury particularly painful memories, if Dean could, he would've salted and burned them as well. From the bits and pieces Sam recalled from after his brother had hauled him up the basement stairs, and carried him to the Impala, their father had lit into him pretty good, blaming him for Sam's injuries. By the time their dad had figured out Dean was badly injured as well, Dean had already pass out cold. Sam had always believed he chose his time to lose consciousness as sort of a defensive mechanism, choosing to shut down rather than listening to what a failure he was. He could take pain – had proven that time and time again, but failing in their father's eyes was not an option for Dean.

As he absentmindedly stared into the depths of the darkened hole, he contemplated his reasons for dredging up the past, and selfishly had to admit that talking it through with Dean had helped clear his mind as to how things truly were between them. Dean would never hurt him – would rather die than see him in pain – and although he had always known this deep down, Dean's denial of suffering any pain at all had cemented it into his brain.

Closing his eyes, he trailed his fingertips over the crook in his arm, remembering how he had begged Dawn to shoot him up with whatever drugs Dominic had given her just so he could escape from the pain for a little while. In those drug induced hallucinations, Dean was the enemy . . . was the cause of all his pain instead of the hero who always gave way too much of himself. In truth, Dean gave away much more than he had to give, leaving him vulnerable to men like Dominic who would prey on that kind of selflessness for their own personal gain. In Dominic's eyes that made Dean weak – while in Sam's eyes it made him shine. Not just a cut above the rest, but a true hero.

With a heavy sigh, Sam sidestepped the weakened floorboards and trudged back into the kitchen. His stomach rumbled loudly as he glanced at the refrigerator, a nagging reminder that he'd barely touched his dinner, and had eaten very little over the past few days. Eyes narrowing, he stared in confusion at the seemingly new kitchen appliance, and then pivoted to take in the rest of the room, realizing for the first time that someone had completely remodeled it since the last time he was there.

_Maybe this is why Dean is here? _He scratched his head, confusion growing as he stared at the marbled counter tops and copper pans hanging above the center island. _Was someone trying to move in here, and disturbed something they shouldn't have? _

In his mind, he retraced his steps since entering the house, but other than this room, he couldn't think of any other that had changed at all. "That has to be it," he muttered under his breath, mentally kicking himself for not questioning why there was power running to an apparently abandoned dwelling. Yet for all that had happened the last time he was there, Sam couldn't sense any feelings of dread about the house. In truth, he felt an odd sense of peace that he hadn't known since before Dominic had entered their lives. Searching his mind, he tried to find a reason for the feeling, and finally reasoned that it had to be because of Dean.

_Yeah, but he doesn't even want me here. _Shaking away the notion of being an unwanted intruder in Dean's life, Sam yanked opened the refrigerator, rummaged around until he found a six-pack of beer, and pulled it off the upper shelf, closing the door with his foot as he turned around to take a seat. "So how do I get him to want me to stay?" he muttered, cracking his beer open, and taking a long swallow.

_I pushed him away so many times, I doubt he'll ever forgive me, much less want me around. _

As he mulled over ways to make Dean trust him again, he polished off three beers and was well into the forth when he heard the sound of the front door opening then closing. "Dean, I'm in here," he called out, hearing the floorboards creaking toward the stairs, alerting his brother that he was in the kitchen instead of upstairs. For a moment the footsteps halted, and Sam could imagine his brother grappling with himself as to whether he wanted to face him again or just head upstairs to bed instead. "Look, I promise not to bring up the last time we were here again, so can't we just talk?"

A relieved sigh slipped past his lips as he heard the creaking sound grow more distinct as Dean changed directions and headed toward him. Smiling, he gulped down the rest of his drink, lined it up alongside the others, and raised his head, tilting it toward the door.

"Kinda thought you'd be gone – " the words died in his throat as two of the men who had tortured him at the compound enter the room with guns drawn.

"It's been awhile, Sam," the taller of the two said with a smirking grin, "I was worried you might've forgotten me, but I can see that you haven't," he added, motioning toward Sam's trembling hands. "Looks like they healed alright – guess I'll just have to break them all again."

"You know," the shorter, brown-eyed man, whom Sam recalled taunting him before they'd broken his fingers, leaned casually against the entranceway, "you should always lock the doors cause you never can tell who might walk through them if you don't."

A sudden loud crack of splintering wood echoed from somewhere behind Sam, and his stomach heaved violently as more footsteps sounded against the floorboards. Without having to turn around, he knew there had to at least three if not more men entering through the back entrance, successfully barring any means of possible escape.

Swallowing hard against the thick lump in his throat, Sam managed to utter, "What the hell do you want?"

"Thought that was obvious," the taller man, who was obviously their new leader, waved his gun at Sam's chest, "we wanna watch you an' your brother die." His smile broadened, eyes alighting with derisive pleasure. "An' since he murdered our father, we're gonna kill you first, so he can witness it before we take care of him."

"You actually think Dean's stupid enough to just walk straight in here?" Sam slid off his stool, but before his feet came to rest on the floor, the barrel of a gun ground into his back between his shoulder blades. "He's a helluva lot smarter than all of you put together."

"An' he's a crack shot, too," the leader of the group added, holstering his gun as he came to stand in front of Sam. "Saw that with my own eyes. But I really don't think his intelligence or aim have anything to do with his desire to not to see your brains splattered all over the floor. So I'm pretty sure, he'll come and he'll be unarmed when he does."

"Looks like he's kicked the habit, Markus," the brown eyed man said, nudging his head toward Sam while chuckling. "Last time I saw him he was so damn strung out, he was spouting off about demons coming to get him."

"Yeah, it does kinda look that way, doesn't it? But the thing about a recovering junkie is they're always just one good fix away from being a junkie again." Markus gripped hold of Sam's arm, and forcefully yanked up his sleeve. Fists tightly clenched, Sam stood paralyzed, a shiver of dread coursing through him at the thought of losing himself once again to drug filled hallucinations. "So what do you say, Sam? You itchin' for another fix?"

"N-No." Mouth suddenly bone dry, he swallowed convulsively. With a dead stare, he watched as Markus reached into his pocket, and pulled out a syringe filled with hazy liquid. Eyes locked on the sharp needle, he pushed himself backward, but abruptly stopped short as two men gripped hold of his arms.

"Do you know that in every sense of the word, Dean was one of us?" Markus took a step forward, closing the small gap between them, and raised the syringe to eye level. "If Father ordered it so, he wouldn't have blinked twice in killing you to protect the family."

Sam steeled himself, drawing on all the inner reserves of strength he possessed, and when that failed to bolster his faltering courage, he drew on something even more powerful. He focused all his thoughts on Dean. Their relationship. The unbreakable bond they had shared since childhood. Dean was his constant – the one person he could always rely on no matter the circumstance. If Markus followed through on his threat, which Sam had no doubt he would, and he did lose his way once again, Dean would find him and bring him back. That was what Dean did. Always.

"Think I know my own brother better than you, asshole, an' there's no way in hell he'd ever purposely hurt me."

"You give him way too much credit." Markus smirked as he jabbed the needle into Sam's arm, and squeezed the plunger.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Lucas followed Dean to the bar he'd seen him at a few days prior, and parked in the far corner of the lot. He wasn't stupid, he knew why Markus had chosen him to go after the middle Winchester. If there was one thing he had learned in his vast experience with the _family, _it was that there were always acceptable losses. He was an acceptable loss. Dean would kill him. Markus counted on it, of this Lucas was absolutely certain. In Markus' eyes, Lucas was the weakest link – the bait. His only worth measured in how fast he could make Dean react to the news he had to share.

He toyed with the idea of running, but the family would find him. They always found whomever they were searching for. Dean was proof of that. And maybe it would be better if Dean did kill him. He might be merciful, unlike Markus who would take pleasure in torturing him. No – for all Dean had suffered, for all his younger brother had endured, he would be every bit as brutal if not more so.

Yet, Lucas couldn't run, he was too damn tired and more than ready to confront Dean. The younger man deserved to have at least one victory, however small, before he died. He also deserved to hear the truth.

Lucas slipped out of the car, and trudged to the entrance. Hesitating at the door, he drew in a a deep breath to calm his nerves, and felt his gut clench as he yanked open the door. With a quick glance around, he spotted Dean at the bar, and made his way across the room.

He tapped the younger man on the shoulder, and took a backward step as Dean shifted in his seat to look at him. "Dean, I need to talk to you about your brother." A look of momentary surprise lit across Dean's features, followed by something akin to fear, then was masked in pure rage.

With lightning speed, Dean's hand whipped out and he clutched hold of Lucas' t-shirt and yanked him forward. "If you hurt my brother again, I swear to God, you won't make it out of this bar alive," he gritted out through clenched teeth.

"J-just hear me out, Dean," Lucas stammered, hastily rethinking his stance that he was prepared to die. "They watched you leave. They knew he was alone, an' they're bankin' on the fact that you'll come for him."

Dean's green eyes glittered with unadulterated fury, looking all the more ominous in the pale amber light emanating from overhead. "So you're here to make sure I don't disappoint them?"

"No, I just . . . I just wanted to go home," Lucas somehow managed to utter, trembling as Dean's grip tightened around the fabric of his shirt. "Markus said he'd kill my brother and sister if I even thought of leaving." He swallowed hard, thinking of his younger brother and sister, and pushed forward. "You don't know him like I do. The things he'd do to them . . . I've seen what he can do, an' I couldn't let that happen to them."

"But it's okay if he hurts my freakin' family?" Dean was off his chair in a shot, and dragged Lucas toward the entrance. Once outside, Dean slammed Lucas up against the wall, pinning him there with a forearm to the throat. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now?"

"The night Raine died. The night she was shot – that bullet was meant for you."

Confusion briefly flitted across Dean's features, but once again was quickly shadowed in anger. "What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"Markus. You took Raine from him." Lucas gulped down a lungful of air as Dean's hold on him loosened. "In his eyes, she was his and you took her away from him. When I saw him raising his gun, I knew what he planned on doing . . . knew he would get away with it, too. All he had to do was blame it on your family, and Dominic would've believed him. So I charged at him, but the gun went off, and Raine died because of me." Looking Dean square in the eyes, tears brimming in his own, Lucas searched for some sort of redemption, but found none. "I-I've never killed anyone before, an' God, you have to believe I never meant to hurt her or you . . . I was just a freakin' bathroom attendant in a house full of killers . . . please, I can't live like this – knowing s-she died because of me . . . knowing you an' your brother are gonna die as well."

For what seemed the longest time, Dean remained silent, holding Lucas' gaze, then finally released his hold on him. "Go home to your family, Lucas." He then pivoted on his heel, and headed toward his car.

"Dean!" Lucas shouted, chasing after him. "You can't go alone, they'll kill you."

"Maybe." Without turning back, Dean gave a curt nod. "But at least I'll take some of those bastards down before I do."


	58. Chapter 58

_So I am thinking probably 3 more chapters to go...thanks for reading and for all the support and awesome reviews. They mean the world to me!! bambers;)_

_Fifty-Eight_

"Sh-she walks in fire . . . f-fire." Sam blinked hard, trying to erase the blurring image of the fiery winged-demon who hovered, pacing the perimeter of the living room. Her pale, bluish-gray eyes never strayed from him for more than a moment. "Sh-she's burning . . . can't you see her?" Struggling against the ropes tightly secured around his ankles and wrists, he grew more frantic as she edged closer to him.

"What the hell's he ramblin' about?" Markus demanded as entered the room, and stalked to where Sam was tied to a chair.

"I dunno." The stocky, brown-eyed man shrugged, gesturing to Sam with the barrel of his gun. "Guess he seems to think some sort of fire demon is after him."

"Is that it, Sam?" Markus clamped his hands down on both of Sam's wrists, and leaned in closer. "Demon's comin' to get ya?" He chuckled as Sam shied away from him. "Well, you don't have to worry about them cause I'm gonna get ya way before they do."

Tilting his head to the side, Sam trained his sights on the fiery demon as she drew back and hovered beside a tall man who stood guard near the front entrance. "N-Not me . . . you."

Markus narrowed his eyes on Sam, scrutinizing him for several long moments before he spun on his heel and glanced around the expanse of the room. He swung back to face Sam, leaned in and cupped a hold of his face. "If they're here, what the hell are they waiting for?"

"Sh-she's . . . she's waitin' for Dean." A lazy half-smile played across Sam's lips as his eyes fluttered close.

"Damn, his mind's all screwed to hell." The brown-eyed man laughed as he got to his feet and strode to the window and peered out through the cracks in the boards. Glancing back over his shoulder, he asked, "Do you think Lucas found Dean yet?"

"Leave my brother alone . . . you hear me . . . d-don't you touch him." Sam's previous smile vanished as his stomach abruptly clenched, cramping knots forming in the pit of his gut, making it nearly impossible to breathe. Squeezing his eyelids even tighter closed, he struggled to draw a few panted breaths.

"I'd say it's a safe bet." Markus nodded, ignoring Sam's comments. "Dean doesn't seem the type who'd wander too far away with his brother here alone." He nudged his head toward Sam, and further added, "Owen, the drug's taking effect, let's get him over to the couch, then go find a blanket to cover him with."

"You really think he's gonna believe Lucas was lying to him?"

"The way I figure it is, he'll come in here all guns at the ready, find Sam apparently sick on the couch, an' then while he's checking on him, we move in." Markus untied the ropes from around the handrails, and bound Sam's wrists together. "So, he really doesn't have to believe it for long, just enough to let his guard down." As he spoke, he knelt and did the same with the younger man's ankles.

Vainly, Sam squirmed and twisted in their arms as both men carried him to the couch, and dropped him onto it. As Owen rushed off to find a blanket, Markus gripped hold of Sam's t-shirt, and yanked him forward, so their faces were only mere inches apart.

"If you don't stop squirming, I swear the only thing your brother's gonna find when he gets here is your corpse." Pushing himself away from Sam, he cocked back a fist and slammed it into his face with such force that Sam's head snapped backward from the blow.

"Th-they'll never f-find you," Sam murmured, heading lolling to the side as he struggled against the darkness edging around him. "Sh-she'll burn ya til there's nothin' left but ash."

"There's no one here, Sam." Markus shifted slightly to glance around the room, then refocused his attention on Sam. "But even if there was some damn demon, like you say, you'll be dead long before I will." Reaching in his pocket, he yanked out a syringe, and held it up for Sam to see. "You see before I gave this to you, I added a little something special to it." He lightly pressed on the plunger, and Sam watched as a few droplets of liquid bubbled over the top of the needle. "So even if your brother did get here, and somehow managed to rescue you, he'd only be saving you to watch you die."

"Markus," the man guarding the entrance called out as he stepped away from the door. "Someone's pulling into the driveway."

"Alright, get everyone together, and head out the back door," Markus ordered, releasing his hold on Sam.

Sam dropped back down onto the couch, and curled into a tight ball, clutching his stomach and whimpering as the cramping pain intensified. Within a matter of moments, Owen sprinted into the room, hastily covered Sam with a blanket, tucking the scratchy fabric under the cushions to hide the bindings tied around his wrists and ankle, then followed the others out of the house.

Markus hung back a few seconds longer, watching Sam. "Water Hemlock, Sam . . . tell Dean, I'm sure he'll wanna know." He spun on his heel, and strode out of the room.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dean slid out of his car, and eased the door shut. With Sam's .45 hidden in his waistband, he double checked his own gun, making sure the safety was off, and then slipped into the shadows of the trees, silently making his way toward the entrance. Edging around an outcropping of shrubs, he crept toward the front window, and peered in through the cracks in the boards.

From the narrow crack, he could see that the lights were on, but as he squinted to get a better look around the room, he couldn't see anyone moving around inside. A sudden sharp cry of pain echoed from somewhere right behind the wall, setting Dean into frantic motion. Racing to the stairs, he bolted up the steps, and ran headlong into the door, splintering the wooden frame. The door flung wide open, banging into the wall before smacking back into Dean as he rushed inside.

"Sammy!" he shouted, mindless to everything else but his brother's growing cries of pain. Following the sounds of Sam's cries, he raced into the living room, and abruptly stopped short, seeing his little brother curled into a ball with tears streaming down his face. Within a heartbeat he was at Sam's side, dropping to his knees on the floor beside him. "Sam, what's wrong?"

"D-Dea – " Another anguished cry burst from Sam's lips as he tried to pull his legs up closer to his chest. "G-Gonna be s-si – " Before he could even manage to get the rest of the words out, he hastily turned his head to the side, and heaved violently, body shuddering as he repeatedly gagged.

Fowl smelling vomit splattered and dripped down Dean's jacket, shirt and jeans, as he carefully rubbed his brother's back. Swallowing back the bile rising in his own throat, he softly uttered, "It's gonna be okay, Sammy. You're gonna be okay, I gotcha little brother."

"N-No . . . ," Sam gasped between panted breaths, shaking his head. His eyelids cracked open for a moment before he squeezed them closed.

In that brief glimpse, Dean saw that his pupils were constricted to mere pinpricks, and cursed under his breath. "What'd they give you, Sam?" When Sam failed to respond, Dean yanked back the blanket around his brother, cursed again as he noticed the ropes tied around his wrists, and pulled up his sleeve, searching for the needle mark. "Come on, Sammy, you've gotta tell me what drug they gave so I can get you help."

"W-Water h-hem . . . .hemlock," Sam managed to ground out before coiling his body inward once again.

"Sonuva – " Dean's breath lodged in his throat, revenge forgotten for the moment as he gaped at his brother. "That's dea – you're not gonna . . . it's g-gonna be okay, Sammy," he stammered, heart pounding so hard within his chest, he was certain Sam would hear it and know he was absolutely terrified. Hands trembling, Dean worked at untying the ropes, frustration mounting as his sweaty fingers fumbled with loosening the tight knots. "I'm gonna get you to the hospital, an' you'll be fine."

"D-Dea," Sam whimpered, hanging his head over the side of the couch, "I'm g-gonna – " His words were abruptly cut off again as he retched repeatedly, struggling to catch his breath in between gagging.

"Guuhhh . . . . D-Dean, it h-hurts so much . . . so d-damn much."

"Remember that game we use to play when you were little, Sammy," Dean uttered, grasping at the long ago memory in hopes that he could make his brother forget the pain for a short while. "Every time you were really feelin' sick we'd play it . . . I'll go first." Untying the last of the knots binding Sam's wrists, Dean shifted to work on the ropes around his ankles. "Elmira Gulch." Sam wrapped his arms around his stomach, and arched forward, crying out in pain. "Come on, little brother, Elmira Gulch, what movie?" Dean gently coaxed, sweat beading on his brow as he frantically worked at the knots.

"T-too easy . . . Oz."

"Didn't wanna make the first one tough on ya." Tears blurred and stung at Dean's eyes as he watched his brother writhe around on the couch. "'Kay it's your turn."

"P-Ponyboy Curtis."

"The Outsiders," Dean replied without any given thought. "Why do you always think you can stump me with that one?" A wistful smile played across his features, recalling how Sam had made him watch the movie once when their father was away. "I'll go you one better, it was written by S.E. Hinton." 

"You b-been reading, Dean?"

"Fifth grade English assignment." Unable to loosen the knots around Sam's ankles, Dean unsheathed his knife, and carefully began cutting away at them. "Sammy, I don't wanna cut you, so you gotta try an' hold still for me."

"C-Can't, Dea – "

Wincing, Sam wrapped his arms firmly his legs and pulled them closer to his chest. Another heart-wrenching scream ripped from his lips as he vaulted forward nearly tumbling off the couch, but with lightning fast reflexes, Dean dropped his knife, snaked out an arm, and caught hold of his shirt, pulling him into his arms. Dean's grip tightened around his brother as Sam retched. Vomit spilled down Dean's back, leaking in between the collar of his jacket, and soaking into his shirt, but he refused to loosen his hold on Sam.

"I-I'm sorry, Dean," Sam uttered between choking gasps for air.

"It's an old shirt, Sammy, don't worry about it," Dean breathed, knowing Sam was close to giving up, and also realizing what he was really apologizing for.

"I'm n-not gonna . . . dad taught us, Dean . . . you know I'm n-not – so y-you gotta forgive me . . . ." Sam's voice trailed off as he drew in a shuddering breath. Sam's eyes, bloodshot and shimmering peered into Dean's, pleading with him to accept his apology before it was too late. "Please, Dean . . . th-they made me doubt you, so you gotta forgive me . . . 'kay?"

"We're not gonna talk about this right now." Dean shook his head emphatically, not about to let his brother give up and leave him. "Later when you're better I promise we'll have the mother of all chick-flick moments, but not now . . . not like this."

"Th-they killed me . . . y-you know that . . . th-there's not gonna be a l-later – " Sam's eyes suddenly rolled backward into his head, body twitching and convulsing in Dean's arms, spurning him into action. Snatching the knife off the floor, he hastily sliced through the rest of the knots.

"Come on, lil' brother, let's get you out of here." Dean's heart lodged in his throat, stomach clenching painfully as Sam screamed and thrashed against him as he hauled him to his feet. "You're not dying on me . . . I won't let you die."

"Afraid you really don't have much of a choice in the matter," came a voice from behind Dean, and without have to turn around he knew it was Markus. "Cause you're not going anywhere."


	59. Chapter 59

So, as I have the last chapter completed, I am going to post them both at the same time as a thank you for all the awesome reviews and for all those who stuck with the story. YOu guys are completely awesome!! Bambers;)

_Chapter Fifty-Nine_

"Sam's right you know." Markus leaned against the wall as his brothers spread out, surrounding Dean and Sam. "He's dead, so you'd figure he'd do us all a favor an' just stop breathing instead of dragging it out with pathetic apologies that no one really cares to hear."

"You wanna kill me, so just get it over with." Dean's grip tightened around Sam, determined that if they were to die, they would fall together. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one man's hand tense on the trigger of his gun, and braced himself for impact, but Markus held up a hand to stop him.

"Not yet, Dean." A smile lit across Markus' features as he shook his head. "I watched Raine die, so I'm not about to let you miss out on watching your brother die."

"You killed her, not me." Although it left him wide open to attack, Dean shifted his hold on Sam, trying to shield his brother with his own body.

"When he's dead, I'm gonna cut him apart, Dean," Markus cruelly taunted to the jeering laughter of his men. "An' I'm gonna force you watch before I kill you."

"You sonuvabitch," Dean hissed, upper lip curling into a snarl, "you lay one freakin' finger on him an' I'll rip you apart with my bare hands."

"Eight men with guns against one." Markus gestured toward each of his men, and smirked. "Forgive me if I don't tremble."

"I'm only gonna kill you, I don't give a flying fuck about the others."

Markus' smile faltered for the briefest of moments as their eyes met and locked on each other. "You'll never make it across the room alive."

"You'd be damn surprised what I can do if I set my mind to it," Dean retorted, baiting the older man into making a move.

"D-Dean," Sam mumbled, head lolling to the side then rolling to the front as his convulsions momentarily abated. "M-mom." He raised a trembling hand, and motioned toward Markus. "L-Lemme go."

"No, Sam," Dean uttered, now fully understanding why his mother had come, she knew Sam was going to die and wanted to take him away. "I gotcha, an' I'll be damned if I'll let anyone take you away . . . even her."

"S'okay . . . sh-she jus' wants – "

"I know what she wants, but she can just wait cause you're not goin' alone."

"Le' go." Sam gripped Dean's wrist, trying to pry his hand away from around his waist, but Dean tightened his hold.

"Said I wasn't letting go."

"Are you two just about done there?" Markus waved his gun at both Winchesters, before squeezing the trigger, the bullet slicing into Dean's upper arm before lodging into the plaster wall. Dean's arm jerked back, breaking his hold on Sam. Dropping to the floor, Sam pushed himself backward, away from Dean. "Thought I'd settle your little dispute for ya, so we can get on with the reason we're all here."

"Sh-she wants r-revenge, Dean," Sam murmured in a breathless whisper, his head then lolled to the side, eyelids closing.

The moment the words left Sam's mouth, an icy chill filled the air. Dean's breath left him in a hazy plume as the temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Unmoving, he watched as the walls began to tremble, plaster crumbling to expose the rotted wood beneath.

"Markus, what's going on?" Owen called out, shying away from the crumbling walls.

"It's an old house," Markus eyed the younger man for a brief moment before refocusing his attention on Dean, "hold your ground."

"I don't think that's gonna be possible," Dean retorted with a cocky grin as his mother appeared before him. Smiling at Dean, she splayed out her arm, sending Owen crashing into the wall. She lightly traced her hand across the Dean's chest, fingertips coming to rest on the word Dominic had branded into his skin, and a warmth spread outward as his flesh began to tingle. As her hand fell away, it lightly brushed upon the brand of the cult, and once again he felt his flesh quiver.

"It's gonna be okay, Dean." Eyes filling with fierce anger, she spun and faced Markus. "These are my boys . . . . Mine." She crooked her head to the side, pinning another of Markus' men with a stare, and he crumbled to the ground, flames igniting and consuming him. His agonizing screams along with the sickly scent of burning flesh filled the air as she once again retrained her sights on Markus. "No one hurts them."

Aiming his gun on her, Markus fired repeatedly, but she raised her hand and wave it to the side, and the bullets strayed, ripping through two more of his men. "Wh-what the hell are you?" he stammered, staring first at his gun, then his fallen brothers, and finally at her.

"I'm just a mother who's protecting her children . . . an' God help the person who hurts my boys." Lifting her hand, she wiggled her fingers, and Owen rose from the ground, legs and arms flailing as she drew back her arm, and forcefully whipped it forward, sending him sailing headlong through the air. Slamming into the opposing wall, Owen's neck snapped awkwardly to the side, the cult member's screams cut short as several jagged bones pierced through his neck, blood spurting and spilling down his chest.

"Oh, don't even think about it." Mary spun on her heel to face one of the men behind Dean, and shook her head as his finger tensed on the trigger of his gun. Closing her hand, she drew it toward her chest, and electrical cords ripped from the wall, snaked a trail toward the man and coiled around him. Sparks popped and sizzled, lights growing dim as the older man jerked and twitched. Gray smoke rose from his fingertips and feet as he screamed and cried in agony. Crumpling to the ground, he burst into flames. Brilliant fiery light licked at his charred skin as his cries quickly died away.

The sound of Sam choking and gasping for air, drew Dean's attention away from the dead man still jerking and twitching on the floor, and he rushed to his brother's side. Hastily dropping to his knees, he wrapped an arm around Sam and turned him on his side as he violently heaved up the remaining contents of his stomach.

"Come on, Sammy, don't you die on me now." Tears blurred Dean's vision as Sam thrashed in his arms, gagging and spitting up blood. Pulling Sam into his arms, he fisted a hand into Sam's shaggy hair, and hugged him even tighter. "Don't you let him die on me, Mom . . . you hear me, he has to live."

"I'm not gonna let him die, Dean," Mary softly murmured, her sights now on the two men edging their way toward Markus and the front door.

Her head snapped to the side, and narrowing her eyes on an old gilded mirror that hung above the fireplace, the glass cracked and shattered. With a slight twist of her wrist, the pieces of jagged reflective glass hurtled through the air, while she splayed her other hand out to forcefully pushed one man backward into the wall. Splintered shards of glass pierced the man's eyes, driving his head into the wall as another large jagged piece impaled his throat.

"Markus, we gotta get the hell outta here!" the last of the cult member's shouted as he dove behind him in an attempt to shield himself from Mary's wrath. Making a run for the door, he stopped short as a loud crack issued from somewhere near the stairs, and Dean glanced up in time to see one of the banister railings hurtle like a javelin through the air. Another loud crack followed a dull thud as the sharpened wood punctured the man's chest with such force it hurtled him into the door, breaking it off of the hinges.

"And now for you," Mary turned her sights to Markus.

"No," Dean hissed, carefully laying Sam on the floor. "For all he did . . . for everything we've suffered, this fight is mine."

"Dean, please," Mary uttered, casting a tearful glance in his direction, but he shook his head.

"No." He shot to his feet and advanced on Markus.

Markus leveled his gun, but as he made to fire his weapon Mary splayed out an arm, ripping the gun from his hand. Metal clanked against plaster as the gun smacked into the wall and clattered to the floor.

"You really think you can beat me, Dean?" Markus taunted as they both circled, each vying for the first blow. "I beat your brother – whipped him like the lowliest of dogs, and he believed it was you." He smirked as Dean flinched. "So I really did you a favor by poisoning him cause that little memory would've stuck in his brain," he jabbed at his temple, "like a cancer eating away at him, always wondering if there wasn't some truth to it."

"You bastard!" Dean charged, feigning a blow to the stomach with his left fist, and as Markus made to block, he slammed his other fist into the man's face. Markus' head snapped back, blood splattering from his nose.

Recovering quickly, Markus deflected a jab to his ribcage, grabbed Dean's wrist, twisted his arm behind his back, and rammed a fist into Dean's side. Expelling a rush of air, Dean raised a bent knee, drove his leg backward, smashing it into Markus' knee. As Markus flew forward, releasing his hold on Dean's arm, Dean brought his arm forward, slamming it backward into the older man's face.

Markus flew backward, knocking into and falling over the coffee table. Scrambling to his feet, he rushed Dean, catching him in the midsection, knocking them both to the ground. Markus rolled, leapt on top of Dean, and slammed a fist into his face. Dean's head snapped to the side, and just as hastily snapped back as another fist connected with his cheek.

As Markus made to deliver the next blow, Dean gripped hold of his wrist, yanking him forward as he pushed off the floor with both feet, kneeing Markus in the back. Markus shot forward, face slamming into the ground. Rolling, Dean sprang to his feet. Wiping away the blood trailing from his mouth and nose with the back of his hand, Markus followed.

"He's dying, Dean," Markus jeered, nudging his head toward Sam as he spit out a mouthful of blood. "I gave him a lethal dose, so no matter what you do, he's a dead man."

Dean's attention diverted to his little brother for the briefest of moments, but it was enough. Markus charged, smashing a beefy fist into Dean's gut, followed by an upper cut to the jaw. Air leaving him a heated rush, Dean struggled to draw in a breath as he deflected the next blow.

Catching hold of the Markus' wrist, Dean twisted his arm, and brought his elbow down hard against the older man's forearm. As Markus made to pull away, Dean gripped hold of his shoulders, pushing them downward as he drove his knee into Markus' stomach.

Stumbling backward, Markus gasped for breath. Not giving him a moment to recover, Dean rammed into him, driving him backward into the wall. Cocking back a fist, he bashed it into Markus' face, drew back and delivered another powerful blow to his jaw.

With a firm hold on Markus's throat, Dean's hand slipped to his side, and he unsheathed his knife. Raising the blade above his head, Dean drove the knife downward, but stopped short as he heard his mother scream out his name.

"Don't, Dean," she pleaded, stepping forward to place a hand on Dean's shoulder. "You're not like them. You're a good man, don't let him make you into a killer."

"Look what he's done to Sam, an' tell me he doesn't deserve to die," Dean gritted out through clenched teeth, keeping his sights pinned on Markus. "It's not murder when it's justified . . . more than justified." His grip tightened around the hilt of the blade. "Hell, you killed seven guys without batting an eye – gruesome, brutal murders, so I think I have the right to take just one life for all we've endured."

"I'm sorry, I can't let you do that, Dean."

With a flick of her wrist, the knife flew from Dean's hand, clattering to the floor several feet away. Before Dean could think to react, he was thrown backward to the floor, coming to rest a few feet away from Sam. Dean struggled to rise to his feet, but his muscles froze, locked into place as his mother raised her hand, lifting Markus off of the ground.

"Mom, no!" Dean growled, helplessly watching as the older cult member's shirt ripped wide open. "Please let me do this for Sam . . . it's my job to protect him."

"You branded my boys," she uttered, ignoring Dean as she trailed her fingertips across Markus' chest, his screams echoing throughout the room as fiery letters burned their way into his flesh. After reading the two words in turn, Dean yanked back his collar, and lowered his head, a faint smile gracing his features when he saw that she'd removed the word from his chest, and knew she had done the same for Sam as well. "You beat them like dogs . . . your own words, not mine." As she spoke, long slashing gashes criss-crossed Markus' chest. Screaming in agony, his body writhed and arched forward, leaving Dean with little doubt that his back was taking a brutal beating as well. "And you poisoned my baby boy." With a vicious jerk of her wrist, Markus' neck snapped to the side, bones snapping grotesquely as one last scream ripped from his lips.

One by one, the cult members' bodies burst into riotous flames, intense heat searing their flesh, turning skin and bone to gray ash, but leaving the floorboards unmarred. Dean shielded his eyes as the flames grew brighter and brighter. As abruptly as the fires ignited, they died away, a sudden gusting wind replacing them to scatter the ashes to nothingness, and then that, too, died away.

Within a breath, Mary was kneeling at Dean's side, taking his hand in hers. "It's over, Dean." She leaned in and lightly kissed his forehead. "I have to go, but before I do I wanted you to know that protecting Sam doesn't mean you don't matter. Your life is so very special to me." Placing her hand beneath Dean's chin, she lifted his head so they were looking each other in the eyes. "Your heart's so good and I've watched as you've turned yourself inside out, nearly getting yourself killed several times, to save people." Tears shimmered in her bluish-gray eyes as she drew in a shaky breath, and continued, "You are my greatest accomplishment, and I thank God every day that you were born, and I got to be a part of your life even if it was only for the shortest amount of time." She wrapped her arms around Dean, and hugged him tightly. "I love you so much, Dean," she whispered against his ear. "Always remember that . . . always remember that you're more than just a soldier in a war not of your making. You're my son . . . my baby boy, and you deserve happiness in your life."

"I don't want you to go." Dean gripped a firm hold of her, fearing if he let go she would vanish from his sight forever.

"I have to go." She gently pulled away from Dean, and once again looked him in the eyes. "But you'll have Sam, an' he loves you so much, even if neither of you can ever manage to say the words." Smiling, she brushed a hand through his hair. "An' you have your father . . . he loves you, too, Dean. He'd give his life for you . . . don't ever doubt that." She bit pensively at her lower lip as if she wanted to say something, but then shook her head and smiled through her tears. "John's a good man, even if he doesn't always do the right things."

"Sam'll be alright?" Dean asked, wiping away a lone tear trailing down his cheek, then reached over and dried her tears as well.

"One of the side effects of Water Hemlock poisoning is retrograde amnesia, so when he wakes up he won't remember anything that's happened the last few months."

"He really won't remember being abducted by Dominic?"

"No," Mary shook her head, "Although over time he will regain bits and pieces of memories, and when he does, promise me you'll have that mother of all chick flick moments you promised him tonight."

"I promise," he replied with a nod.

"And there's one more thing that maybe you can do for me?" She looked hopefully at him, and when he nodded, she continued, "You've always tried to be just like your father . . . you wear his jacket, love classic cars, and also listen to his music . . . ." her voice trailed off as she lovingly gazed at Sam for a moment, and then refocused her attention on Dean. "Taped beneath the passenger's seat in the Impala is a cassette. Your father would sometimes play it when he was alone and wanted to think of me. It's my favorite music . . . so when the day comes when you talk to Sam about what happened here, I want you to play it and remember me . . . remember I love you an' I'll never be all that far away from you."

"I promise." Tears falling unchecked, Dean pulled his mom into his embrace, hugging her fiercely to him. "I love you, Mom." His hands fell loosely to the sides as his mother faded away.


	60. Chapter 60

_So after a year and a half of my life, I'm finally done with this story. Thanks so much for reading and for all the awesome reviews! They've meant so much to me as I struggled to keep going on this really long story. bambers;)_

_Chapter Sixty _

_Two Months Later . . . ._

_Lawrence, Kansas_

Dean saw the look in Sam's eyes the moment he realized the fiery creature stalking toward them was their mother. Within their hazel depths held a memory Dean was not privy to, although he was certain he soon would know everything that was on his little brother's mind. A churning mixture of dread and a strange sense of relief plagued him as Sam said his goodbyes to Missouri and silently trudged to the Impala.

Once inside the vehicle, Sam shifted his body in such a away that he didn't have to look at Dean, and instead stared out the window as they drove out of town. Nervously drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, Dean waited, wondering if that one memory of his mother had sparked all the others to come to light, and if so how to explain everything to him.

"Don't you find it a little bit odd?" Sam asked, breaking the silence quicker than Dean had expect, throwing him off guard.

"Find what odd?" Dean cast a glance in his brother's direction, and hastily retrained his sights on the road when Sam's eyes locked on him.

"That I knew it was Mom." He shrugged, playing it off as if it wasn't a big deal, but Dean understood he was giving him a chance to tell him everything. "Just kinda strange is all."

"I don't think it's that weird." Stomach flip-flopping, Dean struggled to find the right thing to say, and finally managed to utter, "It was our home after all and what with the way she died, there was always the chance she'd become a vengeful spirit."

"Hmmm . . . you're probably right." Biting pensively at his lower lip, Sam fell silent. Unfortunately for Dean, it was only temporary reprieve, Sam's brooding expression a clear warning that he was working things through in his mind.

Certain something bad had happened, Sam had questioned Dean about his missing memories several times over the past two months, and not wanting to outright lie to him, Dean had given sketchy details about Dominic and the cult. Yet to date, he had somehow managed to leave out the truly horrible parts, and things had been really good between them. Well, that might have been a stretch, but things were definitely as good as things got when your last name was Winchester.

As Dean purposely veered off the highway and onto backwoods road he inwardly cringed at the thought of once again seeing the look of fear and mistrust in his little brother's eyes when he finally strung all the bits and pieces of memories together. Yet for all his gnawing doubts, he realized the time had come to tell Sam everything.

Searching for an out of the way spot in which to stop, he noticed an old dirt road, slowed and took a left onto it. Scarcely visible beneath thick weeds and bramble, the tree-lined road winded a narrow path around a large pond that was set way back from the main road. On the far side of the water, he spied the remains of an old cottage. Ravaged by storms and time, the home still stood stalwart, seemingly refusing to give over to the encroaching forest, and in Dean's mind it made it the perfect place for them to confront and put the past to rest. His only hope was that the last few months would remain strong in Sam's mind, and he would know in his heart that Dean would never intentionally hurt him.

He pulled the Impala up alongside the cottage, and came to a stop. Snatching the key out of the ignition, he quietly slipped out of the car, and strode to the water's edge. With a look of unease, Sam followed at a much slower pace.

Sam hung back near the car, and called out to him. "Dean, why'd we stop here?"

Without turning to face him, Dean took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and said a silent prayer that Sam would understand. "Do you remember when we hunted Bloody Mary?" He paused, glanced back over his shoulder and when he saw Sam nod, he continued, "You asked why my eyes bled, and I never gave you an answer." Narrowing his eyes on the sun streaked ripples on the water's surface, he recalled Shannon's beautiful blue eyes shimmering with tears as she told him of her father. "While you were at Stanford, I met this girl. Her name was Shannon. She was so damn beautiful. An' she was really smart, Sammy." A sad, wistful smile played at the corners of his lips as he thought of how she'd challenged him to consider other options beside only having hunting in his life. "Definitely not the kind of girl you'd find hanging anywhere around me normally. But she trusted me with her life and I left her alone to die."

Dean swallowed hard, hearing the tall weeds swish as Sam pushed away from the car and edged closer to him. Within a matter of moments, Sam was standing at his side, resting an arm on his shoulder.

"Whatever happened to her, it wasn't your fault, Dean. I'm sure she knows that," Sam said in a low, comforting manner.

"Maybe it wasn't my fault, but covering up her death was definitely my doing." Casting a sideways glance in Sam's direction, he saw him give a curt nod of understanding, and then refocused his sights on the water. "I really thought I could protect her, Sam. An' you have to believe I would've never left her alone if I'd thought . . . if I'd known she was carrying my ch-child." Dean's voice cracked, recalling Dominic's taunts about his unborn child dying along with Shannon. Tears brimmed and blurred his vision as he unsuccessfully tried to push the unwanted memories deep inside.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," Sam uttered in a breathy whisper as he lightly squeezed Dean's shoulder. Through his tears, Dean smiled at the subtle gesture, knowing it was Sam's way of saying that he understood and was there to help shoulder whatever pain was ripping Dean apart inside. "Damn it, Dean, why the hell didn't you tell me before? I'm your brother, I should've been there for you."

"What was I suppose to do, Sammy, show up at your school with salt and gasoline, thrust a shovel into your hand, and ask you to help me hide the body?"

"Dude, don't give me that crap," Eyes narrowing, Sam's hand fell away from Dean's shoulder, and crossing his arms, he shifted to face Dean. "God, why do you always think that when your hurting it doesn't matter? If it had happened to me, you would've been right there for me every step of the way, so why don't you ever give me a chance to return the favor?"

Not able to meet his little brother's questioning gaze, Dean lowered his head, and instead focused his sights on a shiny black stone laying beside the water. Water repeatedly washed over it, threatening to carry it away into the darkened abyss, but like Sam it stubbornly refused to budge from its spot. Yet like the stone, there would be a point in which Sam could no longer hold on, and would drowned beneath all the horrible memories cascading over him. With the toe of his boot, Dean nudged the stone out of the water, and carefully pushed it into the safety of the tall grass.

"When I told you about Dominic and his cult, I didn't tell you the whole truth," Dean muttered, and worriedly bit at his lower lip as he waited for Sam's reaction.

Brushing a hand across his chest as if remembering the word that was now no longer etched into his skin, Sam raised a puzzled brow and asked, "So exactly how much did you leave out?"

"They almost killed you twice," Dean responded, a heartbroken frown slipping across his features as Sam turned his back on him before all the words had left his mouth.

"All those nightmares I had where I woke up shaking and screaming out your name," Sam's voice rose in anger as he swung to glare at Dean, "all the ones about some man drugging and beating the hell out of me . . . they weren't just nightmares were they, Dean?"

"The things that he did to you . . . the things you suffered through, they were so freakin' horrible, Sam, I wanted you to forget . . . I was so damn glad when you forgot." Dean swallowed hard against the painful lump forming in his throat and pushed forward, "An' I'm not sorry that I tried to keep you from reliving any of that pain, but I'll always be sorry that it happened because of me."

Scrunching his eyes as if he were remembering a particularly painful memory, Sam lowered his head, and fell silent for several agonizingly long moments. "You know, for the last few months, I've had this constant awful, gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach whenever you were out of my sight. It was like I'd lose you if I couldn't see you." Sam caught hold of Dean's arm as he made to turn away, and looked him square in the eyes. "I-I drove you away, didn't I?"

"It wasn't your fault, Sam," Dean argued, shrugging free of Sam's grasp as he saw a look of guilt spreading across his features. "You were so torn up and broken inside, an' my being around was only making matters worse, so I left in hopes that you'd get better if I wasn't around."

"An' that's exactly what makes it my fault, Dean." Raking a hand through his shaggy hair, Sam heaved an exasperated sigh. "The truth is that I only remember bits and pieces of what happened and most of those memories are cloudy at best, but there are two things I can recall with startling clarity. Care to take a stab as to what they are?"

Dean gave a curt shake of his head, fearing if he spoke and got those two things wrong, he would dredge up horribly painful memories.

"The first," Sam raised a finger, "was the night you rushed into my apartment when it was on fire, saving my life and being there afterward when I needed you the most." With tears filling his eyes, he raised a second finger, "And the second is when you bashed that stupid mirror, once again saving my life without any regard to your own safety." Brushing away a stray tear slipping down his cheek, Sam met and held Dean's gaze. "So if I made you ever feel like I'd be better off without you around . . . if I hurt you like that, then you can't even begin to know how sorry I am . . . cause I'm so damn sorry, Dean."

Struck momentarily speechless by Sam's admission, Dean searched for the right words to convey all he was feeling inside, but the words caught in his throat, and when he did finally manage to speak it was only to say, "Damn, I so hate these chick-flick moments."

"Not a big fan myself." Sam cast an awkward grin in Dean's direction, then nudged his head toward the Impala. "So where should we head next?"

"I was thinkin' maybe Illinois.

"You really think we might find dad there?" Sam asked, still completely unaware that it was their father who had saved them from Dominic.

It was on the tip of Dean's tongue to tell Sam about how John had rescued them, but recalling how he hadn't responded when Dean had called and begged him to come to Kansas, he shook his head. "It's as good as any place to search for him." Heading toward his car he called back over his shoulder, "Don't worry about it, Sammy, we'll find him."

Once inside the vehicle, Dean bent and reached beneath the passenger's seat, groping around until his fingertips landed on the cassette tape his mother had told him about. Carefully removing it from his spot, he gently ripped off the tape and slipped it into the cassette player.

Lifting a brow in puzzlement, Sam slid into the passenger's seat, and gestured toward the radio. "No sense taping your mullet rock under the seat, dude, it's not like anyone in their right mind would wanna steal it."

"I didn't tape it under there, little brother." Dean grinned as he turned the key in the ignition, music blaring through the speakers as they peeled out and headed back toward the highway.

"REO Speedwagon?" Sam's brow's knit in confusion. "You can't be serious?" His expression turned incredulous as Dean belted out the words to _Roll With the Changes_ along with Kevin Cronin as if it were a normal everyday occurrence. "God, I hope they have a damn good mental institution in Illinois cause you've completely lost your mind," he added as he watched Dean tap his fingertips on the steering wheel as if it were a piano.

Not paying any attention to Sam's comments, Dean peered into his rearview mirror, the song briefly dying on his lips as he saw his mother's transparent image in the backseat. With a beautiful smile lighting up her delicate features, she silently mouthed the words, "I love you, Dean . . . ." With another radiant smile, she lightly caressed his cheek as she slowly faded away to nothingness.

Turning down the music for a moment, Dean glanced at Sam and grinned. "The tape's Mom's. An' apparently it was her favorite, so shut your cakehole about the music an' start singing before I have to kick your sorry ass." With that being said, he cranked the music up to full blast, and both Winchesters' belted out song after song until they were completely hoarse.


End file.
